


Lay Your Weapons Down

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Altered Mental States, Cuddles, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, We're Sick People, extreme violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 146,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hour was drawing near to midnight when matters were sorted, and there were knocks on all of the doors to see who among the student body wished to attend a rather hasty funeral service for Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House.</p><p>Draco Malfoy was among them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Been The Coldest Year I Can Remember

_It's been a year I'd rather not remember  
But the memory's where the answer's found  
I know you see my white flag waving  
Would you please lay your weapons down?_  
"Lay Your Weapons Down"

 

The Owl mail wasn't to arrive until mid-breakfast the next day; so in the midst of the Sorting Feast, when one large window crashed inwards in a splatter of glass, the entirety of the hall went into an uproar.

And when the flurry of ashen, grey and brown wings parted from their strangely shaped knot of feathers, something slipped to crash down atop the head table. It was lost from attention spans for a moment, as the owls scattered and swooped and dove, stirring nothing more than panic before they moved as one for the window once more.

Atop the head table was a body, dirt-caked, rotting, and so mangled as to be almost unidentifiable. All the same, it was without question a body, and there was a height to it, and a tangle of rotted hair hanging loose on scalp that had separated from the crisp white skull which gave an inkling of whom the body had been.

The shrieks of the first years were things of intense horror, the fear of children who'd seen something beyond horrible, something straight out of a nightmare. The screams and cries of the older children were somehow worse, raw and filled with disbelief.

The wailing cries from the Slytherin table were filled with sorrow and a certain lamenting anguish, as if some of them had known and others had feared just such a thing. The headmaster himself sat in horrified shock for a moment before rising from his chair and calling to the prefects to herd the children out of the hall.

Panic and a mild sense of hysteria lingered long after the dormitories were filled with their students, shocked and fearful, chatting about it among themselves. There was speculation, and a rising sense of dread in Slytherin house. Their Head of House had been unseen all day and he'd never missed a sorting. It just wasn't done -- and that body...

The hour was drawing near to midnight when matters were sorted, and there were knocks on all of the doors to see who among the student body wished to attend a rather hasty funeral service for Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House.

Draco Malfoy was among them.

Strangely enough, so were the Gryffindor trio of Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter. No one had expected any of that lot to come. No one had expected any of them to care. Perhaps they didn't. Perhaps it was morbid curiosity or something along those lines, but still they came, and it was better than nothing.

In the end there was quite a pitiful showing. It was late, after all, and many were sleeping. Perhaps half of Slytherin house attended as well as the other teachers, the headmaster saying a few words, blessings and hopeful phrases over the cleaned and partially reconstructed form of Severus Snape, bound hand and foot in white. The stack of logs that he was set atop looked crispy to Draco's eyes, promising a quick burning of the corpse. Others spoke, but they were just words, and words lacked the power to soothe anything or to fix the horridness of knowing that a teacher at their school, whether they cared for him or not, was dead.

Dead; no, murdered. And delivered purposefully, spitefully on the day of the Sorting.

Voldemort was even more vicious than any of the children had previously thought, with the possible exception of Potter.

It was enough to scatter a boy's thoughts, particularly when one was only barely fifteen. Draco's father had mentioned to him that something might happen, attempted to prepare him.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

He watched as the Headmaster lowered a torch to the kindling at the base of the stack, and the flames started to lick up the sides of the bigger logs, magically aided against the evening wind. Despite the presence of students there, silence reigned, broken only by a choked sound from one of the faculty members.

The silence seemed as if it were going to swallow them all, fear and horror twisting into their veins in that quiet night air -- and then it was broken by a footfall cracking a pile of underbrush from the woods. The noise turned every head, but it was impossible to see who or what it was in the dim light.

"Children!" McGonagall hissed, and the professors drew tight around them. Potter, Weasley and Granger all pushed towards the front, naturally, but they were not alone.

Draco Malfoy was right behind them.

There were too many horrors that bounded the edges of the forest, too many creatures that could cross over the grounds freely, though most of them stayed to the forbidden part of the forbidden forest. For a moment, he halfway thought it was a vampire, or some ragged werewolf coming towards them all, and there were enough professors there to make that all right, almost safe.

He wasn't expecting it to be only a filthy, muddy-looking boy who was staring at them all a little wide eyed in the guttering shadows cast by the fire. "I'm s-sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Draco's distaste for idiocy mixed with the dreadfulness of the current situation brought the sharp edge of his tongue into play before his brain could stop his mouth. "Of course you're interrupting something, you imbecile, can't you see the pyre?"

At least that seemed to prompt the professors into motion, Dumbledore moving deeper into shadow and away from the roar of the fire. "Hello, young man. And who might you be?"

"Perseus." He had a crooked smile, and a voice that seemed dry, unused in a way that left Draco feeling uncomfortable. "I missed the train."

Whatever his name was, he was taking away from the seriousness of the affair. Draco turned his back and pushed his way through the small crowd back to the fire, although everyone else certainly seemed interested enough in the boy. They were attending the funeral of a great man, and none of them could be arsed to give him the respect he deserved. It made his fingers itch.

"Well, young man." Dumbledore's voice carried despite the muted roar of the fire. "You are welcome to come to the castle with us in short order to discuss your presence here."

"Thank you, sir."

Ghastly, ghastly annoying, the interruption, but Draco kept his back to it stoically. Severus Snape was dead and gone. Their Head of House was dead and gone, and Draco knew, had known it was coming in a vague way that had left him disbelieving and in shock before the body had even been so gruesomely spilled out at breakfast. The first hint that it had been more than his father's drunken ruminations had been when their Head of House hadn't been there once they arrived.

Professor Snape, according to gossip and rumor, had never so much as been late more than once in all the time he taught at Hogwarts. Never mind not arriving at all, which had been more than just a bad sign to Draco's way of thinking. It had been confirmation of a horror that he hadn't wanted to be real, hadn't been prepared to face. He had respected the Professor, and more than that, he'd... he'd had a ridiculous schoolboy crush that never would have gone anywhere, though that at least he could claim as his own. It wasn't that he'd been terribly physically attractive, but he had a large number of exceedingly appealing features beyond the merely physical that had made Draco... oh, he didn't know. Want to be with him, want to _be_ him, admire him excessively, he wasn't sure. He hadn't thought about it overly, and now there was no point at all in thinking about it even in stupid adolescent daydreams. There was no point at all, and no one strong enough to hold Slytherin house together without him, Draco feared. No one to watch them and be proud of them and teach them what they needed to know.

If Draco's eyes felt hot and scratchy, it was clearly because of all the smoke.

"Do not mourn the dead, for their suffering has come to an end." It startled Draco, badly, from watching the flames eat away at his Head of House. The dirty looking intruder was standing beside him, still clutching his satchel over his shoulder, watching the flames, rather than Draco. "Who died?"

A murmur several feet away sounded something like _a right git_ , but Draco decided to let that go... for now. He had other things to concern him at the moment. "The Slytherin Head of House," he declared shortly, not turning or looking away. Surely they owed him that much respect.

"Huh." There was at least silence in response, after that, while Draco swallowed down the urge to turn and throttle whoever the intruder was. Except now he couldn't focus.

Bastard. He was probably some illegitimate get of a brainless Gryffindor, but even thinking that didn't offer him any sort of consolation. Perhaps cursing him might, although the situation was currently too populated despite the general lack of attendance.

They stood there for some time, students and staff watching the fire. Some left sooner than others, but Draco didn't plan to leave until dawn. Someone owed Professor Snape the proper respect, and he would give it even if he was finally the only one left. It was the least he could do, given what his father had suggested. That Severus had been... Disloyal.

He was almost surprised that the young man stayed still and quite beside him. The sound of bells in Dumbledore's beard disturbed Draco from his contemplation.

"Well, gentlemen." The old man's voice was calm and firm. "I fear that dawn is on the horizon, and our vigil ended. Mr. Malfoy, I will be certain to inform your professors that you will not be attending class today. As for you, young Perseus, I think perhaps now is an excellent time for you to come to my office to discuss your arrival."

Draco considered making some sort of protest -- the pyre was still burning off, dawn wasn't that near, he wasn't yet ready to leave his chosen post. He then considered how tired he was and the fair possibility that he'd have the dorm to himself since the other fifth year Slytherins had long since returned to the castle. Everyone had save himself, Dumbledore, and the strange boy who'd stood close by for the rest of the night. Funny that a stranger would do that, but he wasn't going to think on it. He was tired and dispirited and possibly just a bit heartbroken. With a nod more to the pyre than the headmaster, Draco turned away slowly to make his way back to the castle.

A day wouldn't solve anything for him, but it would give him a little space to breathe.

* * *

  
He supposed he shouldn't have interrupted once he'd realized it was a funeral. Never mind that he'd probably already made noise and been caught out right away, but he should've known that no gathering in the forest that late at night boded anything other than ill for him or anyone else that stumbled upon it.

Still. It hadn't been so bad, standing there beside the blond boy watching it burn. A little strange, but not altogether bad, and the night had passed quietly with only the crackle of the fire and the strange smells that occasionally wafted in their direction.

His feet had been tired and his whole body ached. If he was honest, he was probably going through withdrawal, but that was something he didn't want to consider. It had been easier to be still and focus on being still, and to watch the flames. He still didn't think that being dead had been such a bad thing. Unpleasant as it went along, yes, and unpleasant was the kindest of words for what had really been screaming discomfort, enough that he'd dissociated himself entirely and ended up...

Well.

If he wanted to be honest with himself (and he was usually brutally so), he wasn't sure exactly how it had happened. It wasn't as though he'd had a plan or even the faintest notion of how to do what he'd done; only he had done it, and that was that. After that had been a few distasteful choices and there he was. Determined, needing to be there in a way he'd needed since always, since as long as he could remember. Hogwarts was a refuge for those who sought learning.

He still gave a sideway look at the headmaster as they walked in silence. The man didn't seem distrustful or suspicious, but he'd long since known that didn't mean a damned thing. Gryffindor or not, he was bloody well worthy of the deepest most plot-ridden Slytherin on any given day.

That quiet reigned between them right up until Dumbledore stopped at the gargoyle guarding his office and blithely offered, "Everlasting Gobstoppers." The stone statue moved out of the way, leaving the stairway open for them as it rose with steady grinding sound. "Well, young Perseus. Come along."

"Yes, sir." He shifted his satchel, heard the uncomfortable clink of moneys, coins, bits of gold, everything he could get his hands on. Not every poor orphan was Harry Blessed Potter with a Gringotts vault of funds left by parents who had loved them very much. Some people had to do a variety of extremely unpleasant things in order to get what they needed. Luckily enough, he was fairly inured to unpleasant things by now. He'd only done what he had to do, and now he was going to do his best to forget all of it.

Once they reached the top, Dumbledore moved ahead of him, robes shifting easily around him. "Do have a seat. Perhaps you would like some tea?"

"Please." He was thirsty and his throat, his voice never seemed to work right. Still, he wasn't going to complain, because his situation was certainly improving. "I'm sorry about the funeral."

"And I as well." It only took a moment for tea to appear, and also a plate with a multitude of sandwiches. "Please, help yourself, and then perhaps you would like to tell me how you came to be at Hogwarts at this particular time, young man."

"The train conductor thought I was putting him on and wouldn't let me on. I'd like to attend. I know..." He laughed a little, digging his letter out of his bag rather than sitting down just yet. "This seems strange."

"Oh, indeed." Indeed, but the headmaster took the letter anyway, unfolding it slowly. It was torn a little at the creases, dirty from fingering and rereading, but it was still legible, if only barely. "I see, young Perseus, that your family name is Averis. Related to the Snapes, weren't they? Hmmm."

"Who?" He leaned up a little, reading it over his shoulder. "I only just got together the funds."

There was that little look over the edge of half-moon glasses. "And no one made you aware of the possibilities of scholarship funds, Mr. Averis?"

He stared for a moment, somewhat gape mouthed, before squinting hard at the headmaster. "No?"

"Hmmm." A considering sound. "I suspect that you might be terribly behind. This letter is nearly six years old. You're more than welcome to attend, young man, only I suspect we'll have to test you to discover what level your magic might be. Have you a wand?"

"Yes. It's hawthorne and centaur hair." He held it out, aware that any Priori Incantatem would only be embarrassing, not life-ending. Domestic sorts of tidy work spells, and repair spells, and no few spells that had clear sexual connotations if one were looking.

At least the dodgy potions wouldn't show up. He could be grateful for small favors, anyway. Dumbledore took it from him and held it this way and that, observing it with interest. "Quite nice. Why don't you show me something?" It was returned to him, leaving him faintly relieved and a little grumpy.

He hesitated because he needed to impress but he didn't want to be too impressive. "Fiendfyrite!" It blew out a small Fiendfyre that he quickly corralled around his wand. It stung his hand, but that was all right.

That certainly caught the old man's attention. "I see," he mused, eyeing the Fiendfyre with wary gaze. "Well, at the very least this should prove most interesting." Rising, he moved around the desk, too spry for such an advanced age. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Averis."

He stood uncertainly, offering his own hand to the headmaster once he blew out the little Fiendfyre. "Thank you. I... thank you." It had been a very long day, a long night, and his mind wasn't spinning quite fast enough to give him all of the questions he needed to ask.

"Now, then, before we sit you down with the sorting hat, perhaps you'd like to tell me about your trip here." Friendly as could be, but then that made quite an excellent cover for suspicion for some people. "After all, it would be nice to know."

"After they wouldn't let me get on at King's Cross, I went back to Knockturn, and floo'd to Hogsmeade. I walked up from there." It was a nondescript telling, because it had been just that, a very boring trip. He'd stopped at the Hog's Head, gotten a drink and a little food, before carrying on with his trip.

Admittedly he hadn't counted on arriving to a funeral pyre, but then, not everything could be perfectly planned and executed, he supposed.

"Well, now, I suppose we'll have to make sure that next time you make it onto the train. Have a seat, dear boy, have a seat, and I'll fetch the hat."

"Thank you." He sat back down, and twisted, watching Dumbledore's sprightly movements. It was better to focus on that than that he was tired, almost relieved to be there finally after the last few years. Grateful to be free, to be something other than what he had been, to be home, all of those things. Just... so very deeply thankful.

"Ah, here we are. Now then, are you prepared?" That disturbing twinkle of eye was only given to children, and Perseus found himself thinking that he wasn't sure if it was more disturbing to see it or to see its lack.

"Yes, sir." He straightened a little, letting his arms fall to rest loosely atop the chair arms. It was almost farcical, because he knew where he was going to end up. Still, sometimes one had to make the effort in order to get where one was going, and so he took a deep breath and felt the Sorting Hat settle on his head.

 _Hmmmmm._ Maybe it spoke aloud, maybe it only spoke in his head. _A very interesting head you have, young man. I think I've sat upon your head before, or... no. Not quite the same at all, but very close. How remarkable._

He tried not to feel visible relief, tried not to relax or shift at all in response to that. "Hello, hat."

 _Very interesting, indeed._ It hemmed and hawed a bit and finally declared, _Brave enough for Gryffindor, smart enough for Ravenclaw, but you have a sneaky determination that is quite interesting. Yes, and a fair amount of self-interest, too. Nothing wrong with that at all._

"So?" Dumbledore was looking at the hat, not at Perseus at all. "Where will young master Averis be placed, hat?"

Self-interest, hah. He'd never really given in to self-interest, or else he wouldn't have been sitting there in the first place, feeling shaky and unsure, still wrung out from the entire ordeal. There was a lot he never would've had to do if he'd actually been self-interested. "I think it's chewing it over for suspense."

That prompted the thing to yell aloud. "SLYTHERIN!"

It was so loud that Dumbledore jumped, smacked into his desk, and sent a few scrolls tumbling. "Oh, dear!"

He reached up, and carefully lifted the hat off of his own head. "That sounds very good to me." After all, he'd cast a Fiendfyre and had gotten himself there. He'd done everything to get there himself, and how could that be anything other than scheming and sneaky?

"Well, well. This is a turn for the books." The headmaster blinked at him. "Oh, dear. You'll go in the same dorm as Mr. Malfoy."

"Who's that?" He held the hat out for the headmaster, standing up again. "I'll, uh, I didn't buy books in case this didn't, in case you didn't take me."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, I'm sure there will be quite a few things you'll need. Let me show you to the dungeons. Later today we'll make sure that you get them."

He didn't answer the question.

Perseus left the bag of coins and bits of gold there at the side of the chair, and stood there for a moment, waiting to be escorted to the dungeons. "Thank you. I know it's late." Sleep, and some distance from Dumbledore, and he might get comfortable in his new role. A little food later wouldn't hurt, either.

There'd be time to figure out what to say and what to do about everything else later.

* * *

  
His head was bloody killing him. Throb, throb, throb, vicious and hateful behind his right eye, keeping him from sleeping. If Draco hadn't been so damnably exhausted, he'd get up and go to the infirmary, but he couldn't bring himself to make the effort to crawl out and do so.

Worse, someone had thrown open a curtain on their way out the door, the bastards, and now there was lake-light seeping in behind his eyelids when he wanted no such thing. His head wasn't killing him with that restrained urge to cry hysterically that he'd been holding back all evening, no, certainly not. Nor from his long vigil. Nor all the smoke, either, and he still smelled it, and the thick, meaty scent that had underlain it despite spells to make it more palatable.

If he thought about it much, he'd puke, and that wouldn't help matters any.

When the door cracked open, Draco gave a vicious curse and fumbled for his wand. "Say two words and I swear I'll transfigure the lot of you into...." Not the f word. "....something vastly unpleasant and feed you to that blast and damned cat of Filch's."

"Whose cat?" That was two words right there, more than enough to throw off at least a warning spell, but he didn't really recognize the voice, and that was enough to make him open an eye in alarm.

"What the..." God. His head. "What are _you_ doing here?" An epithet, because that was the bastard who'd interrupted the funeral pyre, and honestly, Draco wanted to hold that against him. Never mind that he'd stayed, and no one else much had.

"I sorted into Slytherin last night." He brought a hand up to cover his mouth, yawning behind it. "Mmmph. Thought I should wake you up and see if you wanted food."

Fuck, no, he didn't want anything. "What I want you to do is fuck off and leave me alone... after you close the bloody curtains." Sorted Slytherin? Perseus whatever his name was? He didn't look familiar, and there were very few Mudbloods or Half-bloods sorted into their House, which meant that Draco knew almost everyone, or was possibly related to them.

Sometimes, he was even related to people he didn't know.

He turned, pulling the pillow over his head tightly, eyes squeezed shut in a desperate sort of way. Draco expected him to shut the curtains and then bugger off, like Crabbe and Goyle and anyone with a lick of sense would do.

"Okay, well. I lied, I went upstairs and grabbed sandwiches before coming back down here. Here." And then the idiot smacked his shoulder!

"Ow!" Bastard. Seriously, if his head weren't in danger of falling off, Draco might very well hex him all the same. "What makes you think I want your damned sandwich? Was I not explicit enough for you, Perseus whoever-you are?"

"Averis." At least he was smart enough to know his own last name, but that wasn't a real sign of intelligence, not when generation after generation of Weasley had managed it. Mostly. "It's probably why your head hurts."

Ha. He doubted it. "And if I eat it, then I'll puke it up, and that'll just make it all worse. Also, if I do vomit, I plan to do so in your direction."

That didn't seem to impede him, because he poked Draco again. It was enough to make Draco bolt upright in a fury, wand in hand. And the boy didn't flinch, just looked at him, still holding a plate. "Your constitution can't be that weak. Just eat it."

"Looking to poison your year mates before you ever get started?" All right, it sucked as a rejoinder, but he was tired and angry and he felt like hell. Draco snatched the plate, wincing as lake-light took the opportunity to sparkle and slice in through his eye. "Fine. I'll eat the damned thing." He wasn't up to hexing him out of the room, despite the rising desire to do just that.

"I'm trying to be nice. At least until I work out who the actual bastards are." There was a pause, while he sat back on a bed Draco hadn't remembered ever seeing before. "Also, I need someone to show me the baths."

Bloody fuck.

All he wanted was to bury his head under the nearest pillow and sleep or cry or something fantastically stupid. Now he had company, and that was extraordinarily low on his list right now. "Well, someone clearly showed you the way here."

"I can get back and forth just fine. It's almost a straight shot. Do you really want me to go find the headmaster just to find a shower? I suppose I could ask the pictures..." He was talking, too, which wasn't good for uninterrupted sleepiness, which Draco had wanted to just wallow in.

The hammer behind his right eye picked up speed, just a little. "If I show you the baths, will you shut the fuck up?"

He licked his bottom lip, watching Draco with a funny glint in his eyes that made Draco wonder just where he'd come from. "I suppose so. Yes, I might."

Fine. Fine, if it got him left alone to moan about his queasiness and the fact that he felt like hell, he'd drag himself out of bed and go. "Then follow me." Maybe he'd even make the effort to go down to the potions classroom. No one would be there, and he could probably find something for the damned headache. At the worst, he could make himself something, even if he had a headache. Surely he could concentrate enough to brew something as simple as a pepper up potion.

The other, new -- how bizarre that was! -- fifth year stood up from his bed, and smirked a little as he folded his arms over his chest. "Thank you."

Ha. Thanks. As if that meant a damned thing. Draco crawled out of his bed, expression tight and making him even more grumpy. "Well, come on then. Let's get this over with." He snagged a set of robes and tossed them on over his pajamas. They'd cover him enough for a quick trip to the Professor's...

Hell. To the potions classroom, and just thinking that hurt him, so today clearly was going to continue just as horribly as last evening had begun. "I don't think we've been introduced yet," he offered as he followed Draco, arms still crossed over his chest. He was dawdling a little, still surveying the halls, that half-wondering look in his eyes that Draco associated with first years.

"You're Perseus something or other, and you're clearly not a Pureblood or I'd know more than that." He sounded a little bit like his father, which probably wasn't the best thing at this particular moment. He was going to be holding quite a few things against his father for some time to come. "And I'm Draco Malfoy. Try to stay out of my way."

"Perseus Averis, and no, I'm not a pureblood." He sounded a little displeased, which was nice, as far as Draco was concerned. He wanted him to be displeased because, well, because he'd displeased Draco. "Why was there a funeral on school grounds?"

He didn't want to answer, even though he was fairly certain that lack of reply would just get him hassled with further questions. Pushing open the doorway that led to the baths, he pointed. "Down that way, fourth door to the right's the boys' side."

"Right." He brushed past Draco, and gave him a long look over his shoulder before continuing on his way.

One more thing Draco didn't want to deal with in his utter misery.

It wasn't really worth it to him to go to the potions store. He'd probably just fumble around and end up having a stupid moping fit if he did, and he could do that just as well if he went back to bed. Maybe he'd get lucky and convince one of the House Elves to bring him a potion, or at least some good strong tea, and then he could just curl up in and feel wretched alone for a while.

It was horrible of him, in a way. He'd lost the only thing he'd been looking forward to for the year, and it wasn't a thing so much as a person, and maybe he could've stopped it. Maybe he could've done something, intervened with his father. He didn't know, didn't know enough about what happened but knew too much at the same time. There was no recourse, and he was sure his father was going to keep being involved in it all.

And maybe he'd involve Draco in it as well.

That was something else to mope about, because it was one thing to be a braggart and an ass about something he'd been told was quite remarkable all of his life, and it was something else again when he'd figured out that You-Know-Who was, in fact, four pickles short of a full jar, and that was if he felt like being kind. For the most part he didn't, because what he had wanted didn't coincide at all with what he wanted now, especially since Professor Snape was dead.

Draco trudged his way back to the dorm room and tossed off his robes. The sandwich was still sitting there, so he made the effort to eat it just because it would hopefully mean that Perseus Averis would fuck off and leave him alone whenever he got back.

He slouched and slumped, and then considered knocking himself out for a while with potions, and he was still considering it when Perseus came back into the room wrapped up in a robe. He looked better clean, but Draco was chiefly focusing on the book that he wasn't reading with the curtains mostly drawn. There was just enough lake-light shining through to let him see the way to his bed, and to the trunk that had been in there when Draco got back. He'd considered plundering in it -- he had a natural attraction to shiny things, and tended to pick them up regardless of the person to whom they actually belonged -- but had decided it wasn't worth his effort.

Closing the book, he dropped it on the bed and curled up, twitching his wand to pull the curtains around the bed as well.

He still heard Perseus rummaging through his trunk, but he didn't look, didn't, did not give in to curiosity. After all, he knew everything Crabbe and Goyle and Zabini had, and anyone else in his cohort in Slytherin, above and below his year. It was good to know who had what resources, and who had none at all.

"I'm going to find out what courses I have. Do you want tea sent down?"

For fuck's sake. "I want to bloody well sleep," Draco moaned, and dragged his pillow over his face. The unpleasantness of vague suffocation was better than idiotic questions about tea.

"Fine. Be a bugger." There wasn't any heat to the remark. It wasn't long after that that he heard the door open, close, and finally. Finally. Silence.

Too much silence, and it stretched out long and quiet, the very air around him growing dense until he thought he'd explode, and then he did, just a little, and it was a relief.

After that, it was a lot easier to sleep.

* * *

  
Hogwarts, his second time around, was much... quieter.

That was neither good nor bad, and he'd mostly been focused for his first week in placing into lessons, working out where they were, what had and hadn't changed, and his own health. He was finally feeling almost at full strength again, though he was staying out of house politics, and not really associating with anyone. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

Seeing his students from this side of things was different and strange. Crabbe and Goyle seemed a bit brighter somehow than they did in classrooms. Zabini was less standoffish than he appeared to be, though he spent most of his time off with Millicent Bulstrode. Then there was Malfoy.

Draco had mostly kept to himself for the past week and a half, but it was in such a broody sort of way that Perseus had noticed a fair half of the girls in any given class were eyeing him in disturbingly hungry sorts of ways. Even Longbottom got a certain gleam to his gaze when he glanced in Draco's direction, and that was simply disturbing.

He didn't think Draco noticed, but it was interesting to watch. It wasn't something he would've paid attention to before, but there was a lot of... stress that was just gone suddenly. Things he didn't have to worry about that he'd worried about for decades.

Now if the bloody Gryffindor threesome (and that certainly led to some inconveniently timed hormonal issues) would stop eyeing him as if he was the Dark Lord born again, life would actually be quite bearable.

Of course, it was no wonder that they would be suspicious. Over the last five years, almost any new addition beyond ickle firsties was nigh on a guaranteed agent of He Who Must Not Be Named, so naturally they'd turned their snooping his way. Perseus hadn't decided exactly what to do about that as yet, but he would have to make some sort of determination soon, and alliances besides. Feeling out the social structure was all right, but remaining aloof would only create problems in the long run.

Not that he was interested, really, in making friends.

Still, he presented opportunities. Left himself out in the open while he read, knowing that they'd come bother him sooner or later. He was giving Draco space to mourn, trying to work out how best to intrude without gaining suspicion. The thing was that he only had so much time before becoming a loner entirely, and he was unfortunately familiar with that particular state of being. He preferred to try something else this time around.

The thing of it was that the girls and Longbottom weren't the only ones who could appreciate Malfoy's brooding. Maybe it was hormones, maybe it was the comedown off of the chancy potions, maybe it was just that the boy had clearly liked Professor Severus Snape a great deal more than he probably should have. Maybe it was a combination of those things, but the fact of the matter was that it _was_ , and he'd always enjoyed a challenge.

It was a balancing act, one that he'd rather not have to do, but so much better than other balancing acts. Perseus considered it a mild challenge, and mostly needed to get Draco alone.

Except he was being followed.

There was nothing to do about it except what a Slytherin did best -- something sneaky. He flitted through the halls, glancing around him, peering at shadows, and then finally simply ducked around a corner and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

They bumbled close, heading his way.

"I don't like it. Just shows up out of nowhere, sorts Slytherin, does well in classes. How'm I not supposed to find that all strange?"

"He doesn't look like Tom Riddle, though. Not the one we saw from the diary."

"Well, it's not as if he couldn't be using Polyjuice or, I dunno. Some kind of glamour or something, right?"

Ah, yes. Charming. "Actually." Pushing away from the wall, he turned to smirk at all three of them. They'd jumped as if they were coming out of their skins. "That's usually more of an older witch's sort of thing."

Making them jump was so enjoyable.

That moment of lingering almost hyperventilation was worth it, where they all stood there and gasped for a second while he stood there. "Out of curiosity, why're you following me?"

"Urm..." Clearly Weasley wasn't getting any brighter.

The know-it-all stepped forward. "Well, we're curious, aren't we? It isn't as if we've seen any new students come in before at any age past eleven."

"I was late." He drawled it, letting the tip of his wand settle into the palm of his hand while he watched them cluster together, shifting apart only slowly. "I didn't have the means to arrive." Honestly, how they had survived four previous years at Hogwarts going up against the Dark Lord and his milieu was entirely beyond him.

Potter tilted his head to the side suspiciously. "You showed up right after the professor's body. Even you'd have to admit that's sort of strange."

"Yes, well, if I knew I had poor timing I would've waited around in Knockturn Alley for another week or two." He scowled at them, holding his books in his hand while he moved just a little closer to them. "If I were a threat to you, do you think confronting me like this would be a good idea?"

Of course Weasley would be the one to speak up. "Seems to me like there's three of us and one of you, Averis." Mmm. Brilliant.

"Knockturn Alley?" Granger's eyes sharpened in the gloom. She was frightfully bright. It was best to throw her off base if at all possible.

He bit his lip between his teeth for a moment, gentle enough to keep himself from drawing blood but hard enough to keep himself in check. And he threw in a dirty look at her for good measure. "Yes. Knockturn Alley. Not all orphans get rescued and whisked off to school. Some of us have to work to get here."

Oh, that was charming. He could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes, but it was Weasley who blurted it out. "Not who--" Her elbow smacked him in the diaphragm and he coughed viciously. "...ergh."

Potter seemed to take that as a sort of cue, eyeing the witch carefully. At least both of them had a healthy respect for a woman who wasn't afraid to use violence to her own ends. "Right, then. Um."

Hermione was at least looking at him with a keen look to her eyes -- enough to tell him it wasn't over, but that it might become part of the school rumors. Nothing he could do about that. "Right." He lifted his eyebrows at all three of them.

"Well!" Her voice pitched high and tight for a moment. "I, uh... I think we should go, then."

"Yes." That voice sent chills down his spine. "I really think you should, Granger." It was tight, and vicious, and dammit. At least he could be grateful he was still wearing robes. "After all, it isn't very bright to assail Slytherins on their own grounds."

Malfoy to the unexpected rescue.

Now her expression hardened a little, but it was still a shock when she grabbed Weasley's arm and Potter's. "We were just going!" And go they did, skittering back up the hallway, leaving Perseus to watch until they were gone before he turned to look at Draco.

"That was effective."

"Which is really quite remarkable, considering she's more likely to slap me in the face for the threat than listen to me." He was watching Perseus, silver-grey eyes narrowed and thoughtful. "So. Knockturn Alley. I'm sure the rest of the house will find that either deeply interesting or utterly mortifying by the time it's made its way 'round the Gryffindor breakfast table."

He drew himself up as tall as he could, though it wasn't as impressive as it had been in the past. "It's probably going to be a mix of the two." Perseus sneered a little, sliding his wand away. "I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

That blond head cocked to the side as if he was considering something. "Well, there's no point in me making an offer to keep my mouth shut, one way or another. Those three will spill it somehow regardless. So what sort of Slytherin will you be, then? The kind who takes it all in and plots their ultimate demise, or the kind who strikes back immediately like a snake? Though I should warn you, they've the devil's own luck."

"Is that the only two kinds there are?" Perseus laughed, and it still startled him that it was mostly a bark of noise, an odd rough sound instead of smoother noises he'd been used to. "I don't know. What're you and where's it gotten you?"

It was interesting, being watched like that, and Malfoy being there by himself. He usually had Crabbe or Goyle attached to him at the hip. "Lamentably, I tend to strike immediately. That doesn't seem to be the best method. More fortunately, someone once set a rather fine example of coiling up to wait for proper retribution. I've been thinking now would be an excellent time to change methods."

"I prefer it. If you ever get the opportunity to strike back." Or, end up dying on a banquet table, slowly suffocating in one's own blood. "I suppose I should just avoid meals for a few days." He shrugged his shoulders, still focusing on Draco.

There was something pinched about his expression, almost as if he was thinking something similar to what Perseus was thinking. He seemed to come to some sort of decision, chin notching upwards, sharp nose tilted. A hand was thrust forward, and he felt his adrenaline spike. "Or you could try it out with allies." The offer was made despite what he'd obviously heard. Sometimes, he had to wonder about Draco's self-preservation instincts.

Sometimes, he was almost proud of them.

"I could. I'd like to try that." He offered his hand to Draco, the motion slow. "Truce, then?" Because from his point of view, he had no idea why he and Draco weren't getting along. Well, he shouldn't have, at least, but he did understand the circumstances too well.

That curl of mouth made him want things. It was too fragile a peace to break in the attempt, though. "Truce."

* * *

  
The thing of it was, Vincent and Gregory weren't stupid. All right, so they weren't always that bright, either. They sucked at Potions, and they could be abysmally thickheaded in their choices of amusement sometimes. Draco had never understood the urge to torture small animals, but then, he had always preferred the humiliation of others to blood and squealing.

He didn't like to get his hands dirty. Sometimes, it became a regrettable necessity.

For one, he had a roommate who was amazingly daft, and given that what he'd said about his upbringing -- that he hadn't had anyone to smack him upside the head and say _'oh for the love of anything, what were you thinking?'_ \-- it probably hadn't crossed his mind to come up with a local cover story for said upbringing. The necessity of keeping him from shaming all of Slytherin house left Draco with a limited amount of time and options. Fortunately, Vincent and Gregory were excellent cover, and they knew all of the best big-mouthed witches. Probably for reasons Draco never, ever wanted to contemplate after the traumatic events following the Yule Ball and Pansy Parkinson putting her hand down his trousers.

Perseus probably knew a lot about that sort of thing. Not Pansy, per se, but hands down trousers and he wasn't going to think about that. He wasn't, nor how Perseus wandered around in the baths without immediately caring about his robe or not. Blaise didn't, either, but Blaise didn't really make Draco think about hands down pants.

Sweet Salazar.

It hadn't taken that much. A few words to both of them, the suggestion that the Gryffindors were plotting against him, a nudge here, a vague misrepresentation there, and they were on their way. He'd loudly discussed Durmstrang's different class structure when passing a group of Hufflepuffs and set them all to twittering.

Honestly, twisting the perceptions of an entire school's worth of students seemed as if it should be more difficult.

It wasn't, though, and even if only three knew the actual, well, whatever had possessed Perseus to say as much and as little as he'd said? No breeding, that was all. No breeding at all, and Draco could help with that, he... Didn't want to think about breeding. Even if they were walking to care of magical creatures class, because he didn't give a flip about magical creatures. He never wanted to care for them, ever.

In fact, the further away from them he stayed, the better.

As a child, he'd been fascinated by them, had pets by the dozens. His father still kept the chimera, Fauncy, even though he complained bitterly about the goat's head nibbling on his shoes. Draco had suggested only wearing shoes he wanted eaten and gotten smacked for it.

Hogwarts had disillusioned him of animals of all sorts, magical or otherwise, and he should've been angry about it, but things back home were somewhat more anger inducing so. Care of magical creatures it was.

"The horror of it is wondering what're we doing this week."

"Likely something pyrophilic, considering previous classes." So he was bitter. So what?

Gregory shrugged from ahead of them. "I dunno. I kind of liked the year we worked with salamanders."

"I'm rather good with fire." Yes, playing with candles, but there was fire and then there were creatures that bit and clawed and nothing fun about that. "Maybe it'll be something painless. Like a Wrangr."

Draco could feel his face twisting up unpleasantly. "No. The more dangerous the creature, the happier it seems to make the idiot teaching this class these days." If it wasn't mandatory, he'd take up something safer, or something he could safely doze through, like Divination.

"Still, could be worse." Not that Draco knew how. There was something steadfastly cheery about Perseus in a grim way, as if even Hogwarts at its worst was still better than... Well, Draco supposed it was better than taking it up the backside, which he'd rather not think about if he was standing around in broad daylight.

The look Draco shot him usually set the others quiet and on edge. It never seemed to bother Perseus, though, just made him smirk inimitably, which led Draco right back to hands down the trousers. His father had always said there would come a time when his hormones would likely try to outrun anything he had resembling sense, and he was greatly disturbed that it hadn't happened until a Knockturn Alley whore showed up in Slytherin. He didn't know what to do about that, either. "I suppose it could have sharp teeth _and_ spit fire from both ends."

"Then you pet it with sticks instead of hands." He cocked an eyebrow at Draco as they stopped, across from the Gryffindors, near what seemed to be a plain clearing. He didn't seem at all bothered when the half-giant lumbered in towards them.

"Ello, Class. Wait until you see the surprise 've got for you this year." He was rubbing his hands together in glee. It was never a good sign. Frankly, it made Draco twitch, and he carefully slipped back behind Crabbe and Goyle just because it seemed like a much better place to be.

"We're doin' Thestrals this year as our big project," he beamed, smiling and gesturing behind him, over to the copse of trees. "C'mon out. We've got a herd.”

"Fantastic," Draco muttered. "Something that's even more likely to chew me up and spit me out before we've even managed to get through the first half of the year.”

Gregory glanced back at him and shrugged. "'specially since most of us can't see 'em. How're we s'posed to work with 'em?"

"That's the challenge, innit?" Hagrid was grinning. "Alright. Let's start with that, then. Everyone who can see them, put yer hands up. We'll make teams around that, then."

Potter stuck his hand in the air, slowly, and Draco watched a few more Gryffindors put theirs up. He wasn't really expecting Perseus to put up his hand.

"Good, good. Tha's good." Except it totally wasn't, and he felt the chill that chased down his spine, the way he didn't want to think about that at all. Thestrals couldn't be seen even in pictures, not if the person viewing it couldn't see them in reality.

Draco was fairly certain he didn't want to see them at all. Ever. Especially not if Hagrid was so excited about them.

Perseus lowered his hand, and Hagrid started to group people. Lucky, Draco supposed, that Perseus could see them. "Well. This should be interesting. I wonder how you're supposed to care for something you can't see. Hold out an apple and hope?"

More like stand back and let Crabbe and Goyle hold the apple. Draco wasn't going anywhere near them.

Hagrid was going on and on, blithering directions, and he mostly shut that out. He'd already read the material, anyway, and it wasn't as if there weren't Thestrals in the Malfoy stables. He'd never been able to see them, though, and so he had mostly avoided the matter by avoiding the stables as well. "At least Averis can see them. That's something." Nothing he particularly liked, but there it was.

"I wonder if soapy water would get us anywhere but bitten. Or... saddles, perhaps?" Perseus crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes tracking movements that Draco couldn't see.

"I'm not touching _anything_ ," Draco insisted stridently.

"Coward," one of the Gryffindors muttered, but it didn't bother him. Much.

"Good sense," he sniped back. "If you can't see it, you don't know where it keeps its teeth."

Then again, if he couldn't see it, he couldn't see it coming either. Particularly when Perseus uncrossed his arms and reached out to pet at thin air just a foot away from Draco. "Hello there. Do you smell my breakfast? I bet you'd like bacon much more than apples. Draco, here, feel this."

He didn't want to feel it. He wanted to take to his heels, quite frankly, because the thing would probably bite through his arm this time instead of just tearing into the flesh and causing some sort of allergic reaction. Tentatively, Draco reached out, eyes nearly closing in anticipation (dread?) of something biting him. Instead, he felt a strangely bony bridge of nose that set his flesh to creeping. "Ugh."

"That's all right, it's not very attracted to you, either." Perseus curled his fingers a little, and the bony bridge turned towards Draco's palm, pressing. "Or I could be wrong. Does Malfoy taste of omelets?"

"Now, I just want yeh to familiarize yerselves with 'em, and then we'll sit down with books and read up."

He was twitching, unable to keep from that. Crabbe and Goyle both seemed interested, reaching up to the places Perseus showed them, and that worked out all right, he guessed. At least he wasn't missing any of his fingers yet, though he was fairly certain that he didn't want to do this again. Ever. "This is disturbing," he muttered, drawing his hand away from the thing.

"You can ride them if they're trained," Perseus said thoughtfully, making a scratching motion with his fingers that set Draco's skin on edge. "Oddly beautiful."

Ugh. He was definitely done with this, but it could shore up the various rumors he'd been spreading. "I suppose that Durmstrang has a vastly different sort of curriculum than Hogwarts, since you can see them."

"That has nothing to do with it," Perseus countered, still looking at the Thestral. "I've seen people die."

Well of course he had. Draco rubbed his hand against his pants, nose wrinkling. "I'd have thought they'd have killed someone just so the whole class could see them then."

It was disturbing how Perseus's eyes lit up while he grinned, leaning a bit and probably stroking, who knew, the creature's mane? "Then the whole class could see them -- that's a wonderful idea. I wonder if a large animal would suit the same purpose -- ow, not you. You're too sleek to do that to."

The mutterings of Gryffindors were ignored with regal derision. Draco was of the opinion that if Gryffindors believed even half of what Slytherins said, they were idiots. Most of the people he knew said things just to get the idiotic creatures into a state. For that matter, it was one of his greatest pleasures, as well. "We should try that."

Gregory seemed to perk up at the notion. "I'll help." His general preferences for kittens aside, he probably would, too.

They generally didn't talk about the kittens.

"We could always buy a cow," Vincent suggested.

"T'wont be any cow slaughter. It wouldn't work, anyway. All right, everyone. Let's go back to me hut and try drawer'n pictures of what you saw."

Fantastic. Today was looking right up, because Draco was sort of all right with drawing in an Impressionist sort of way. A few dozen blobby trees and he'd be done and perhaps they could skive off back to the castle early for lunch. Anything that meant getting away from the horrendous smell of Magical Creatures was high on his list of favorite things.

As they started their meander back, with Vincent and Goyle sort of pulling up the front and talking about what animals were all right to kill, Perseus fell into step beside Draco. "Why did that bother you?"

He tilted his chin up belligerently. "Not that it's any of your business, but the first year that bloody giant half-breed started to teach, there were Hippogriffs. One bit me. I can't even see the damned Thestrals, so I definitely can't see where their teeth are coming from."

"All right." All right. No teasing him, no further probing, and Perseus seemed satisfied. It was bloody unreal. "We could try painting ours."

Right. That hadn't occurred to him, mostly because... "Are you daft? I can't imagine it would like that very much."

"Yeah," Gregory spoke up from behind. "Tried to paint a dog once. Bit the hell out of me."

Perseus rolled his eyes. "Well, of course, if you used paint paint. I meant in a more figurative way. There are, uh..." He trailed off, and Draco swore he saw a redness creeping up his neck to meet his cheeks. "Potions that. Never mind. I'll mix one up and we'll pour it on it next time. The thestral won't mind."

Interesting. Very interesting, and he was back to hands in his pants sorts of notions again. Clearly his father had been correct about that whole hormone thing. At least he knew not to dip his wick in strange places without the proper charms, and Dallben in a fucking cauldron, now he was blushing.

Greg peeked at them from the side, then looked at Vincent and shrugged.

They both stayed quiet on the walk to the hut, neither of them quite willing to break the silence in case it got any more awkward. It was already pretty awkward, as Draco was thinking about sex, at least, what he knew about sex, so it was all a little hazy and a lot of hope, but it was there now.

The rest of the day was going to be buggerall hell.

* * *

  
He had taken his time getting around to it.

Perseus had no other option -- there were things that were his that he had no other way to get back. The professors at Hogwarts were lazy and always slow to clear out a dead colleague's office, particularly one who had been there as long as Severus Snape had been there, so he could take his time, be careful of when he snuck down there. Slipping away from Draco, Vincent and Gregory had been the problematic part, as their set of three existence had uneasily expanded to include him.

If Blaise Zabini hadn't spent most of his nights in the girls' dorms under various sets of sheets, it would have been an even more uneasy alliance. Crabbe and Goyle had been under Malfoy's reigning fist for quite some time, however, and so when he decided it would be best for Slytherin house to keep Perseus's various filthy secrets from sneaking out into the open, they had given in as if it was only the natural order of things.

Thank Merlin for small favors.

Thank Merlin that it was actually effective. It kept things to a minimum, though Hermione never seemed able to meet his eyes when they shared a class with Gryffindor, but that was fine. She was brilliant, yes, and obnoxious, and the less he had to deal with her the better. If she were embarrassed by his mere existence, he didn't have to worry about the threesome following him to the door to Severus Snape's quarters, carefully lifting the wards. If nothing else, he wanted to take his key to Gringotts. That would come in handy when summer came and he ended up turned out into Knockturn again.

Things were exactly as he had left them; neatly put away into their proper places, covered in a thick coat of dust. It was his own fault, really; he'd never wanted the house elves to come into his quarters, preferred to take care of his own house cleaning charms. At least it seemed no one had bothered to come down here since he died.

It made it easier and harder for him. He had to leave no fingerprints, no disturbances, but likewise, no one cared, which didn't really startle him. He'd had a long tenure there, and his funeral had been sparsely attended because he'd spent more time playing both sides of the fence for the one side than he had ever ingratiating himself with his peers. It was more of a sad statement of the waste that had been his life than anything that actually bothered him.

Perseus shut the door behind himself, and headed pointedly for his desk. The key was there, and it only took a moment to ferret it out, finding it and slipping it into a small pocket he had sewn into the waistband of his trousers. There were rumors of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher coming in. There had been a delay in the appointment of Dolores Umbridge for some reason, likely because she had been busy attending the torturous death of Severus Snape.

When she did arrive, he didn't ever want to get her attention or cross her path because he'd done that once just by existing, and that had been... enough for him. She was too powerful, too naturally cruel to be working in Hogwarts, and also likely to do things like spy on everything possible, so best to take his things back before she got there. He headed for the bookshelves, and started to shrink down a few of the books where he'd written some of his more experimental work. He was nervous, just a bit twitchy. The idea of getting caught was terrifying for so many reasons.

"I was wondering when you would get around to coming here, Severus."

Well, fuck. He went very still, though it wouldn't do him any good. He halfway wondered what kind of alarm the old man had set up to alert him to his presence. "I don't, I, I don't know what you mean."

Albus moved in, robes sweeping a path through the dust. "I would know you anywhere, Severus. Also, I am old enough that I recall your great-great uncle Perseus. He made great strides in potions creation, I do believe."

He bit his tongue, and leaned his forehead against the bookshelf. "Of course. Well." He wanted to ask what Albus would do. He wanted to ask Albus if he was pleased that Severus had already died for him. He wanted to ask if once was going to be enough in the old man's eyes, but he suspected he'd get the answer he didn't want.

The scent of tea wafted up, and he wanted to ignore it. Instead, he turned and found the headmaster setting two cups upon the desk. "It is remarkable. However you found a boy with a letter so old, and a relation yet, I can't imagine. That was very good timing on your part, Severus. Did he even have the gold with him? I can't imagine that he did, of course. That would be very unlike you. I suspect that he was in some sort of trouble, some difficulty beyond a simple lack of funds."

"He was dead when I moved in. He'd just overdosed." Perseus moved towards the desk, slowly, still pocketing his books. "I spent a few weeks getting the money together."

The glitter of those old blue eyes rested heavily upon him as he offered Perseus a cup of tea. "And what are your intentions now... Perseus Averis?"

"My intentions are not to die screaming at the hands of a bunch of Death Eaters while Voldemort watches like a snake sunning itself." He took the teacup, his hand shaking a little. "And what are your intentions?"

"My intentions," Dumbledore said slowly, "are to see that you have your education, to see you grow again, and to see that you don't join Voldemort this time and to convince others of doing the same if you can." He shrugged. "And if you cannot, then that will be fine, too. From the looks of things, you deserve to be free again. It is, perhaps, a highly illegal action you have taken, but not unjustifiable. I cannot fault you for it, at any rate."

He took a sip, still watching Dumbledore with a narrowed expression. "He was dead and whoring to support himself. I daren't say that the Ministry gave a damn about the boy, or anyone else in the last decade or so. The new DADA teacher who's coming crucio'd me."

"That is a very serious allegation, and a more serious problem. There is little that I can do to keep her from her appointment, I'm afraid. With the current state of matters between Voldemort and the insistence on the part of the Ministry that he has not, in fact, returned... I have very few reliable options available to me."

Severus took another sip of the tea, and exhaled slowly. "Don't let her run riot. She will. I'm sure she's here to..." He waved his hand slightly, still looking around his quarters. "I want to be left alone."

"I'm sure she is as well. I will do what I can, of course. As for your desire to be left alone..." Albus peered over the top of his half-moon glasses. "Does that include Mr. Malfoy? It seems that you have become quite close to him. It appears to have helped him through his time of grief."

"Draco is..." He shrugged his shoulders. "A friend. I think I'm allowed to have a friend or two this time around." And not one who abandoned him for the prettier fellow, either, not that he was exactly unattractive now. Dark still, yes, and he occasionally sounded like a braying donkey if ever he laughed, but there was no hooked nose or beetle-black eyes to prevent him from being the more attractive fellow.

Strangely, he felt that perhaps Draco had been attracted to the old him a little more than he ever would have expected.

"Ahhh, so it is not a case of vigorous young hormones, then. I see." Albus's amusement at him was simply unbearable, but it was so like Albus that he couldn't be very angry.

He moved to sit down in his old wingback, grimacing at the dust. "It would be my luck to end up in a thoroughly oversexed body. I can't walk past a table without considering its attractiveness."

Albus beamed at him. "Oh that we should all suffer such a fate, young man. Well. Now that we have had this discussion, I believe that it would be best if perhaps you did not remember it." Before he could do more than draw in a breath to protest, the old man spoke again. " _Obliviate_."

He didn't remember sitting down, but as soon as he started to stand up from it, he knew he'd stayed in his old quarters for too long and needed to leave. He grabbed another two books, and made fast for the door. A quick glance proved that the dust was mostly undisturbed, and so he slipped out and reset the wards before heading deeper into the dungeons.

A muttered word got him past the dungeon wall guarding the common room, and he slipped inside. The lake-light was spilling in, water lending a vaguely green cast of light to the entire commons. There were very few people about, but Draco was draped over one of the chairs, a book in his lap, an apple in his hand.

He was better looking than his father had been at the same age, and Perseus decided he should just give up on pretending he had any sense of restraint. Instead he flopped out on a chair nearby. "Afternoon. What're you reading?"

There was a faintly guilty jump, Draco's eyes jerking upwards. "Um." That implied very interesting things, particularly when he shut the book altogether. "Just something Mother sent me. Where have you been? Not getting into trouble, I hope." He always seemed to be suspicious that Perseus was going to blurt out something unfortunate to a Gryffindor again. Then again, throwing suspicion off on him was likely an attempt to distract him from whatever Draco was reading.

So Perseus folded his legs at the ankle, and slouched in the chair, watching Draco for a moment before he leaned up and snagged the book from Draco's hands. "No, I was looking around the library."

"Hey!" Interesting. That was a very pretty flush, and Draco looked somewhere between shy and angry and mortified. "Give that back, you...!"

" _An Illustrated Guide To Your Body_." Perseus read that aloud, once he was past the fake cover that lay on the outside. "Hmn. Oh, the pictures move." Slowly, sensually. Lithe young men and women, nothing too graphic but very titillating. Lots of breasts and skin and five or six chapters in it looked like cocks got involved.

Draco hissed viciously and snatched it back, his eyes narrowed. "Next time, I'll give up the pride of Slytherin house and let people say whatever they like," he snipped, lips pressed together tightly. Well, that was at least partially expected. Draco was high strung; the more common path of trying to play it off as something silly would have been the better reaction, but he was entirely unlike Lucius. Draco couldn't often pretend that something important didn't bother him.

Draco was a poor actor most days, unsuited to having to master any height of deceit, and that was all right. No one was asking it of him, least of all Perseus. "If you're interested, I could show you," Perseus drawled, smiling as he stayed leaning forward.

It was delicious, seeing that flush, the vague tremor of his lower lip. The struggle between the desire to say yes and the desire to slap the shit out of him made Perseus want to purr. Instead, he leaned in a little more and wasn't surprised when Draco tried to push himself further back into the seat. "Are you mad?" Silvery eyes darted around the commons. No one was paying them a damned bit of attention.

"Why don't we go back to our room? I left my homework in there." He lifted an eyebrow at Draco, trying to tell him that he was no such thing as mad, just interested. Too interested, more interested than he should have ever admitted to being. But being polite had fucked him the last time.

Being forthright would hopefully be a better thing.

Watching him lick his lips, the thoughts clearly racing behind his eyes, was extremely gratifying. "I don't know."

"Just see." Perseus levered himself up from the chair, and was looking forward to that when a stray bit of thought struck him. "Or, well. I suppose you'd rather finish the book first?"

He suddenly desperately realized he needed to go see Poppy.

Well, fuck.

The fact that Draco was at least partially relieved was obvious, as well as his obvious desire for Perseus to push the issue. "Um. Yeah. Maybe."

It was better, Perseus decided, to try to sneak into Draco's bed in the middle of the night with a clean bill of health than it was for Draco to murder him in his sleep for passing on one of the more bizarre STDs. Sneezing balls pox was particularly nasty, and could lie dormant for months and months. "Later." It was a promise, and he knew he had to look suspicious while he started for the door again.

If nothing else, he was glad that his homework had been potions, and terribly easy at that.

He could feel Draco watching him and sense the confusion as he turned around to leave the commons again. Dammit, he should have thought about that before he'd even come to Hogwarts, never mind the last few weeks of getting accustomed to the place. He was furious at himself for not thinking about it before now. Never mind that he'd gone through withdrawal on his own, and who knew what damage that had done. That was what he got, he supposed, for hovering and waiting until the perfect moment to slip in, until he was dead, rather than just shoving the other's soul out to make room before things had gotten quite so dire.

He stomped up to the first floor and continued along the hall, trailing black clouds of irritation along behind him. It was gratifying to see people getting out of his way, although he was fairly certain that he gained a Gryffindor or two with overly active imaginations. Never mind that Gryffindors were always the sort to imagine things that weren't there. That he had to storm almost all the way over to the Gryffindor tower just to get to the infirmary was almost as anger inducing as his own distaste at his stupidity. That should've been the first thing he'd done after getting accepted, but no. No, that would've taken some sort of common sense.

He must've left that in his corpse.

Then again, the longer it went on, the more he realized that being fifteen again actually did seem to be having an effect on how he was thinking. It wasn't just the little things, it was also the big things, and he took a deep breath and sighed before pushing his way into the infirmary.

It must have been a banner day in the world of Gryffindors; the beds were all empty and Poppy was working in a corner. She turned with a bowl in her hand and gave him a look that probably terrified some of the more timid Hufflepuffs. "Mr. Averis." Of course she knew him by name. He was an oddity in the Hogwarts world, a new fifth year student. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I need a checkup." He didn't want to have to explain it, so he wasn't going to volunteer why, or what the reason was, because he hated feeling stupid and behind the curve. This was certainly, well. Both stupid and behind the point of what was expected of him

The sharp arch of her brow was eloquent. "Was there something specific you would like?" Damn her for her perspicacity, and her urge to mortify students who were stupid enough to be asking for contraceptive charms and the like. That was probably what she thought this was, and it was sort of close. It was at least in the general realm of sexual connotations, anyway.

He exhaled slowly before he said, "I'd like to be checked for any... lingering diseases my work might've left me with." Perseus wasn't going to say whore. Wasn't going to, but he had, of his own choice, to make starter funds and to handle one confused and then angry 'handler' who hadn't been happy with the change of arrangement.

Her lips compressed and she shifted forwards, wand lifted. "All right, then. Come with me, to the back of the infirmary. It will take some time."

"Thank you." He tried not to fold his arms over his chest as he moved to follow her. His timing had been perfect, then, that no one else was in there for the moment, that he could discuss it with her without having it passed around the school like. Well. Lucius Malfoy.

Funny that Draco didn't seem to have picked up his father's whoring habits, but then again, Lucius had always been more of a 'do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do' sort of parent. It was no wonder that Draco was only just now looking at the sort of books most young wizards saw when they were twelve, not fifteen.

He'd bet money that Narcissa was probably the one who'd sent that to him, too.

"Sit here, Mr. Averis, and tell me if you're having any problems."

Mortifying.

"Some. My ability to concentrate's a bit..." He shrugged his shoulders. Like he was expected to have any ability to concentrate, given the circumstances. "I thought it was better to find out before anything went. Funny."

"All right, then." She had her wand in her hand, weaving diagnosis spells. "And I'm guessing that you've been sexually active." Of course this had to be as difficult as possible. "Hmmm."

"Yes, of course I've been sexually active. I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't. I..." He pressed his lips together, watching her facial expression as she hummed to herself. With his luck it was either something festering, or fatal.

She nodded. "Well, then, I'll tell you now that particular activity is quite frowned upon here, young man." Poppy paused, seemed to make note of something, and continued onwards.

Right. He'd remember that when he was looking for someplace to live over summer holiday. "I didn't think it wouldn't be." She was taking her time, which implied thoroughness, which was good or bad. He'd died at least once, and gods knew what else had happened that he hadn't been able to glean.

Oh, that was a firm sort of look. He wondered if he'd been even half as intimidating as she seemed. "It's always good to remind young people of the appropriate boundaries." One more wand wave. "Well. That's certainly does take the cake. It's an interesting combination of problems you have here, but not impossible to deal with. Stay here."

Perseus settled his hands on his knees, watching her walk away. If she just handed him a potion or two and no explanation at all, he was going to be furious -- after all, how else could he really get a feel for what to avoid if he didn't even know what had happened?

When she came back, she had a couple of antibiotic phials and a cream of some sort. "Here we are. You'll need to take these now and use this for the next three days. Come back to see me tomorrow and the day after to repeat the potions."

"What was it? What do I have?" He reached for the phials, and after checking the smell to verify that yes, they were actually good quality and probably provided by Slughorn, who was certainly an acceptable potions provider, he downed them both.

Poppy looked at him and sighed. "Quite a bad case of goblinrrhea, complicated by a minor case of Weeping Will-o'-Wisp disease. Be a bit more careful from now on, Mr. Averis. Not everything can be solved with a few potions and creams."

He almost choked on the last of the potions, and held the phials out to her unsteadily. "Right. Right. I don't even want to think about that." Perseus was going to spend the rest of the night in the baths, with a book or five but certainly all of it was going to be spent in the baths. He might bathe until his wrinkled wrinkles had wrinkles. "I'm okay other than that?"

"Would you rather I had told you that you had some sort of Muggle venereal disease? If it would make you feel better, I could always tell you that you did." It was not amusing.

"It's not funny." He clenched his jaw, still holding onto the phial of cream. "All right? It's not funny, and I don't need you being smug about it." Which wasn't what he'd wanted to say to her, but it was better than telling her to shut up and storming off.

That would probably tell her more about him than he needed her to know.

"Of course it isn't funny, dear. I would never laugh about something so serious, but when I tell you that you have something and it's being treated, that is precisely what I mean. I'm sorry if you thought I was amusing myself at your expense."

There was biting one's tongue in a metaphorical sense, and then there was biting one's tongue. Because it was there to bite the edge of and it kept him from blurting out everything, because Poppy looked so very controlled, and he'd always liked her. She was scary as Azkaban from his current position, though. "I used to use Muggle drugs sometimes. I was just surprised that was all that was wrong with me."

She sighed and turned around, opening a drawer. She came back up with a chocolate bar and handed it to him. "Dear. There is nothing else wrong with you. I do hope that you'll refrain from doing something like that again. It won't always come out so well for you if you do."

"Right." Right, and he needed to think, plan ahead for Winter and Summer holidays, needed to establish Perseus Averis separate of his previous state. He could probably get a room in a dicy inn, and sell some of the more obnoxious potions that he detested. It would be good enough to keep his head above water for the few months it was necessary. "Right. Thanks. I'll... be back tomorrow."

Best to slink off with his tail between his legs while he still had the chance.

He'd have to figure out a way to put things off with Draco or keep it pretty simple for a few days. It would probably work out better for him if he did, anyway, so he slipped off of the cot and moved away from her.

"Mr. Averis," Poppy called. He didn't want to stop, but he felt as if he should. "If anyone asks, tell them that you're in need of a few vaccinations."

Right. Because he was the Slytherin who needed help lying. He bit that back, and nodded because it was true enough. Moving in so quickly was like buying a used broom without kicking the back strands a few times. "Thanks."

If she called him again, he didn't hear her.

* * *

  
Perseus Averis had propositioned him.

Perseus.

Averis.

He'd been a whore or maybe a seller of dubious potions. He was five years later coming to Hogwarts (although that certainly hadn't seemed to cause him any learning difficulties that Draco could see). He was... ridiculously sort of attractive, although certainly not as appealing as Draco, but then, who was?

He had fucking terrible timing.

In a lot of ways, covering for Perseus's stupid admission to the Gryffindors had kept him from thinking overly much. Plus, the sneaky bastard seemed to have a knack for telling when Draco was getting a little too deep in his thoughts and dragging him back out of them. Having a -- well, not a lackey, but he wasn't sure if friend was the right word, either. Having someone who was bright enough to tell when he was in need of distraction or whatever had been extraordinarily pleasant.

Relieving. After all, Hogwarts was a lot of stress, classes were a lot of stress, owls from home were a lot of stress. Owls in general now left him a little flinchy after the delivery of Severus's corpse. Perseus was amusing if nothing else, and always unexpected.

And he'd propositioned him.

The immediate reaction he'd felt had been mortifying, his embarrassment about the book notwithstanding. Father had been adamant that he didn't need to know about any of _that_ yet. Fortunately, his mother had decided that he probably did need to know about _that_ and had sent him the very interesting text he'd been hiding behind the overleaf of _Proper Potions Preparation: The True Path to Becoming a Potions Master_.

As if he didn't already have a shining example of that!

Perseus, of course, would out his reading material, but Draco supposed that was what he got for reading it out in the open.

Now he had a better understanding of _that_ , which left him with a lot more creative fodder and an urge to maybe find out if Perseus really had been a whore because that implied things about his sexual prowess in Draco's mind. Possibly good things, skilled things.

The door to the fifth year dorm opened, and Perseus slunk in carrying a chocolate bar.

Draco felt the immediate flush that crept over his face and a rush of blood to other more private bits and pieces. How he could blush in one part when another part clearly had requested immediate use of a vast amount of his bloodly resources was beyond him. "Erm."

Yes. That was fantastically eloquent.

Perseus sat down on his bed, watching Draco's face and oddly looking like he was miserable and pissed off. "Want to split a chocolate bar?"

Okay. "Sure." It was probably a good way to get around to the yes part of that whole proposition thing. Never mind the way his pulse was pounding, heart throbbing wildly in his chest.

He slipped off of his own bed and moved to sit next to Perseus, licking his lips.

"Occasionally, I'm completely daft," Perseus sighed, breaking the bar in half with the wrapper still sealing it before he started to unwrap it. "Where're Vincent and Greg?"

It didn't take much thinking. "Probably off torturing small animals somewhere. Or possibly Hufflepuffs, but I can't see where there's a great deal of difference." Perseus notably did not ask about Blaise, but then he probably hadn't slept more than three nights in the boys' dorm since school started. After a week, he'd looked startled to see that Perseus now lived in the dorm with them, and had then moved on, changed clothes, and taken off for another day of likely knowing everything in that book Draco's mother had sent him.

Perseus pressed half the chocolate bar into Draco's hand, finally smiling a little. "I'm sorry about earlier."

Oh. Was that a revocation of his invitation? Draco felt his stomach drop in disappointment. "Sorry?" he asked, hoping that wasn't it. Crush or no crush, the professor never would have asked him, and Draco wasn't fool enough to turn down an invitation like that. He was no Blaise Zabini but he _was_ a fifteen year old boy, after all.

"When I took off." Oh, that. Pffft, Draco had hardly registered that at all, but apparently Perseus had. "I realized I hadn't gotten any of my vaccinations." He took a bite of the chocolate, chewing slowly, taking his time, and Draco mostly just watched. Oh, that mouth.

"Vaccinations." What, he hadn't had dragon pox? Draco blinked, and put a square of chocolate in his mouth to distract himself.

"Right. She's going to space them out over a few days. I just figured since I hardly ever ran into other people around my age, I never got the... things you usually get." He gestured a little vaguely, toying with a bit of wrapper foil. "With my luck I'd end up flat out for half the semester. In the not fun way."

Draco licked his lips and drew in a deep breath. They were alone, so if he made a fool of himself no one would know but the two of them. "So your offer before..."

"I meant it, if you're interested." He licked chocolate off of his fingers absently, watching Draco from the corner of his eyes. "You're very attractive."

Ha! Of course he was attractive. He was a Malfoy, wasn't he? And while the Black side of the family certainly had its less attractive members, on the whole they were surprisingly charismatic. It made up for some of the more inelegant features. "Well, I should hope so! Honestly." He puffed up just a little, but it was still quite nice to hear. "Well. All right, then." His nerves were jangling and he was entirely too excited at the thought. The book hadn't been entirely explicit about this sort of arrangement. There had been references to kings and Romans and some vague euphemisms that were only a tiny bit more obscure than some of the other parts, really, but he was sure he'd figure it out.

Perseus smiled, slow and broad, and leaned in to kiss him. For a moment, Draco froze, and perhaps he had too much teeth in it, but Perseus was laughing and putting a hand on his shoulder and trying again. This time it was better, all soft mouths and sweetness before he felt Perseus's tongue trying to tease its way into his own mouth. Draco gave a faint whimper and opened to him, eyes closing entirely, hand rising to rest against the other boy's shoulder.

A little bony, but oh so much nicer, leaning into him and just feeling the slow intrusion as Perseus slid his tongue in, twisting and pressing against Draco's before pulling back. "So."

So. Oh. Draco blinked his eyes open and looked at him, tongue darting out to taste the remnants of chocolate and Perseus on his mouth. "Oh."

"Did you like that?" What a daft question to ask, because of course he liked that. It almost went without asking.

Still, Draco slanted his eyes Perseus's way and pursed his lips. "I'm not sure. I think you'll have to do it again just so that I can be certain."

"Of course. I think this should take a few demonstrations." Perseus leaned in to him this time, legs touching from knees to thighs while he moved his hand down to Draco's upper arm.

Ohh. That was... kind of nice. A lot more proprietary than Pansy, actually, but then again, Pansy probably hadn't known what she was doing last year, either. Blaise hadn't taken up residence yet, probably because he hadn't learned the proper contraceptive charms. Draco closed his eyes again, and leaned in, and this time was even better than the time before. His pulse was still racing, but it was a little different now; less _'I can't believe I'm doing this'_ and more _'Merlin, let's do this some more. A lot more!'_

Perseus sighed against his mouth. Draco felt his hands sliding down a little, pushing Draco's robes off of his shoulders. "I promise not to go very far. I just want to kiss a little more."

Well, that was disappointing. Then again, he wasn't sure he'd read enough of the damned book to be ready for anything else just yet, so he might as well accede to those wishes, at least until he was a little more prepared.

"Okay."

He wondered if he might not find something a little more explicit via owl mail.

"It's nicer when you can work up to it." Perseus kissed the edge of his jaw for a moment, and then his mouth again, but the lack of robes was nice, a little closer to skin on skin. Draco just needed to get off his own shirt, even if Perseus was still in his robes.

"Yeah." He was a little breathless, mostly because of the things he was thinking, and yes, the kissing, too. He dropped his head back, reaching up for his tie. "That sounds quite good." Exquisite. Perfect, even, and he managed to fumble the knot of his tie loose somehow.

It finally got Perseus to shrug out of his robes. He started to pull at his own tie when he stopped and touched his wand to the top of Draco's head. It left him with the bizarre sensation of an egg being cracked over his hair, and then it went away by the time Perseus was touching his own wand to the top of his head. "I heard something. I think if we're quiet..."

Quiet was good. It was completely fantastic if it meant they didn't have to stop, and when the draperies around Perseus's bed closed and left them in the dark, Draco tried very hard not to whimper.

But then Perseus was kissing him, slow and lingering, and he was pushing him onto the mattress. Draco couldn't see him, but he could feel him now, shrugging off his shirt and crouching over Draco to keep kissing him.

Merlin. He couldn't remember ever being this hard or wanting this much, and the strangled bit of air he let slip was nearly silent. This was brilliant, in more ways than one, and he reached up to pull Perseus down to him. That brought their bodies more in alignment, and Draco had to pause and swallow hard when he felt an erection much like his own rubbing against his hip through their pants.

That could be interesting, and Perseus wanted him as much as he wanted Perseus. He could, there was a lot he could do, he could rock his hips up and close his eyes because it was dark anyway, and oh god. Oh god, Perseus rocked counterpoint to him, and started to kiss his neck, unbuttoning Draco's shirt. Draco didn't want to wait for anything, nothing at all. Not for chocolate (probably melting in the bed somewhere) or for vaccinations or for potions or for the bloody door that was opening, letting in a damnable stampede from the sound of it.

"Huh. I thought Draco was up here. Pansy said he hadn't come up since earlier."

Perseus licked a line along Draco's neck, and he tried to shudder and moan quietly, though that was hard. It felt like Perseus was smiling, and oh, his hair was sort of coarse but very pettable under Draco's hands. Infinitely so, and there was a spot somewhere just to the left of the hollow of his throat that made him shudder wildly, arching up a bit in search of more.

"I dunno, maybe he decided to go back upstairs. 's almost time for dinner, right?"

"Maybe Perseus'd know."

"Perseus stormed off to who knows where. He never misses a meal, though. Bet you're right." Perseus sucked that spot, and almost made Draco squeal when he pinched one nipple lightly.

Oh. Fuck. Dallben, Merlin and Morganna. If he did that again, there was no way he could hold Draco responsible for keeping his mouth shut because it seemed as though there was a direct line of sensation attached from his nipples to his penis, and Draco was fairly certain there'd be a very quick end to things if he kept on.

"Yeah, so. Let's go back upstairs. It'll work out and all."

Merlin knew why they were even looking for him with such urgency. There wasn't anything really important going on, even if they thought there was.

The most important thing in the world was Perseus sliding down his chest, kissing him and unbuttoning his trousers.

Oh.

OH.

Crap. Crap, he was shaking, and his knees were wide around Perseus's chest, his entire body completely on edge because he'd seen this bit, or read about it, anyway, and oh.

No way. Seriously?

Perseus rucked down Draco’s trousers, then his pants, wrapped a hand around his dick, and then _licked_ the underside, nice and slow enough to send Draco into convulsions. He was going to come all over the place, and that had to be totally inconsiderate, completely so, and then he couldn't help making a sound, no matter how quiet it seemed, and he raised his hand to muffle it behind his fingers. He wasn't going to be able to bear it, and he was going to embarrass the hell out of himself, too. Not that Perseus seemed to care, because he gave one more lick, and then Draco felt a warm mouth close over the head of his dick and suck. It was pretty much all over but the singing by then. A few good strong pulls and Draco came, panting and shuddering and wishing he'd managed to hold on for longer than that. It was probably a horribly pathetic showing, but Perseus pressed a kiss against his belly, and crawled back up over him. He couldn't really pull a face when he felt lips nudge against his. Instead, he just opened up, let Perseus kiss him, and he could still feel that hardness against him even as he whined quietly into that hungry mouth.

When they parted a little, it was so that Perseus could rub his nose against Draco's cheek, and he whispered, "If you want, I could...."

"Give it a few days. I want all of my shots to catch up with me first." But sucking Draco off was fine? That didn't seem like he was much worried about catching something as -- oh. Oh. Still, the hand idly stroking over his belly made him care about that not at all.

"I think I'm sitting in the chocolate. Yeah, hold on..."

"No, wait," Draco said softly, and tumbled him over on his side. Okay, maybe he couldn't return the favor, but there were other things he could do, surely. Even if that just meant getting his hand into Perseus's pants and closing around him, stroking him off, that was something, right?

"Hah. Well, now I'm definitely sitting in the chocolate. Hello." An arm came around Draco's shoulders, comfortably close. Yeah, he could do that, slide Perseus's trousers and pants down while he wiggled out of his own.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be that catching, right?

This was easy, anyway. It was a little backwards, maybe, and he was trying it with his right hand when he usually did it with his left, but that didn't seem to be bothering Perseus any. His hands were still on Draco, pushing him a little away even as a leg crossed over his calf to keep him close.

It was funny and felt good, guiding him in the dark, and he really did smell chocolate by the time he got Perseus's erection in hand and gave it a good firm stroke. "Oh. Oh..."

"Is that okay?" He wanted it to be, wanted to kiss Perseus again, so he leaned in and caught his mouth. Tongue and lips and teeth and there was a teasing nip at his mouth that made Draco catch his breath it was so good.

"Better than okay." Perseus sighed it, said it, against Draco's mouth, tasting his upper lip in a slow way that made Draco's dick ache. It hurt to get hard again so soon, but he couldn't seem to help it; not that it was all the way, but it was enough to be uncomfortable, and so he added a little twist to the way he stroked and rubbed his thumb over the head of Perseus's cock to aid him along.

He didn't want to get hard that soon, that fast, but it couldn't be avoided as long as he was touching Perseus like that. It felt too good, and Perseus groaned, quiet, thrusting his hips up slowly. "Please, Draco. That feels great, you."

"Can I make you come?" he whispered, leaning in closer, lips just barely touching against Perseus's mouth. "Can I make you...?"

"Please make me come, I'm almost, your fingers feel so good..." His breath, his words, felt good against Draco's mouth, and the arm over Draco's shoulders went a little tense before Draco felt the wet spurt over his fingers.

Kissing him through it was fantastic, stealing the gasps and small sounds until he stopped making them and they could lie there, quiet and mostly satiated. Mostly because, well. _Fifteen_. A well-turned ottoman leg could probably get a rise out of either of them considering.

"There's a lot to be said for books, but I think I like the hands on best." Perseus let his fingers idle over Draco's body, and Draco never wanted to move ever again. "We should get dinner."

"Must we?" He was a little drowsy and incredibly pleased with himself, although he did wipe his hand off on Perseus's pants.

"There'll be gossip otherwise. Not that I care what gets said." He could just lie there in the dark and close crowded warmth that smelled of melting chocolate and sex.

Draco snorted. "There's always gossip. We live in one another's pockets. Something'll come along and we'll put it off on scarhead or something. Simple as that. People are far more interested in who Potter's shagging than anyone else."

"I don't think anyone would shag him, though." Perseus gave a slow stretch beneath Draco, that really really wanted to inspire him to stay where he was. "I like that plan."

Definitely, yes. So did Draco. "If you can find one of our wands, we can clean up a bit. It'd be nice." He was pretty sure he had chocolate on him, too.

"Lumos." There was a moment of slow building light in there, and then Perseus swiped for his wand where it lay, casting a cleaning spell. On the sheets and the wandlight, Perseus was particularly attractive, tanned skin a contrast to the sheets where Draco halfway thought he might fade into them.

It was certainly arousing, not just Perseus but the contrast between them, too. He stretched out an arm and laid it over Perseus's stomach, eyeing the differences, and smiled. "Mmm."

It left him very glad of his book, because if nothing else, it had given Perseus the perfect opportunity to proposition him. He was smiling when he leaned in to kiss Draco, and while maybe it wasn't love, it was certainly going to make for a good year.

All things considered, Draco would take that and be grateful for it.

* * *

  
Perseus wasn't sure what he was going to do for the school year other than slide through. He'd never actually liked being bored, and even if his memories and his mind felt a little scattered sometimes, he'd skated through classes the first time and the second time was twice as easy.

It was worse than he suddenly found himself in a class where nothing was being taught.

Dolores Umbridge was the epitome of sadistic bitches. He was already aware of her delight in matters of torture on a far more personal level than he had ever wanted to be. The fact that he couldn't warn Draco about it worried him, but then, he'd not have been able to do so even had he still been himself, so he simply decided to do the best he could with what he had. He would advise Draco to stay under her radar as much as possible. Ministry fiddling wasn't good, nor the fact that she was clearly spying for Voldemort. Anything Draco did that wasn't in line with what was expected of him could and would be reported back, and that could only end badly.

The primers they found were so old that Severus was fairly certain his grandfather had probably had one of them. Possibly even his great-grandfather, for that matter, and Draco was looking at them with a sneer that clearly said he'd be opening his mouth any second now.

Perseus shot him a dirty look and shook his head sharply. There was no way of knowing if it'd take, but he had to try. Try and not draw attention to himself. That blond head tilted, and he started to open his mouth when Potter and Granger started wittering away up front, drawing the woman's fire. The relief of that was, in some ways, great. In other ways... He'd spent four bloody years trying to protect Potter, and he seemed to be bound and determined to drop himself into it now.

This was what happened when no one was around to try and keep him out of trouble.

He grimaced when she gave him a detention, and there was nothing he could do to help or mitigate what the boy was going to go through in the coming year. Whatever it was, Perseus was sure he couldn't get close enough or trusted enough to have a word of it be of any use. The best he could do was help Draco. He'd had plans, all sorts of things he needed to do to protect his children, protect all of the children he could, but now he was going to have to modify that.

If it meant only keeping one person safe, he'd rather it was someone for whom he felt... affection.

Somehow, Draco managed to keep his mouth shut until after the class was over and they were well on their way back to Slytherin. "What a bitch," he muttered as they headed down for Potions class.

"Yes, well. I wouldn't cross her. She's from the Ministry," Perseus murmured, clutching his books close as they moved down the stairs.

Surely Potter and his trio had worked that out already and were going to react accordingly, work around her instead of just shouting her down in class. Then again, for all that Granger was bright, once they were grouped together some sort of hivemind seemed to come into being and caused them all to get involved of acts of pure idiocy.

Draco was looking at him with a funny twist of his mouth. "Well, surely my father would have something to say if she so much as dared, though." He could tell from the glint in his eye that Umbridge was a little scary to him despite his statement.

"I'm not sure your father's word would be enough. Better just... Not to antagonize her in the first place." They slowed as they got closer to the Potions laboratory, and Perseus fell quieter. At least lessons with Slughorn were familiar, and were mostly going to be an act of trying to mask his style so the old man didn't notice anything.

He probably wouldn't one way or the other, anyway. It wasn't as if Slughorn had cared for him at all the last time he'd been in school, anyway. The rest of the trip to Potions was quiet, Draco seeming to think about it. Then again, he always got a little mopey on the way to Potions, and Perseus usually tried to keep him talking to distract him from it. Today, he had a feeling that wasn't going to work.

"So, Quidditch practice later?" He tried to unclench his jaw a little, as they headed into the classroom. It was another double. Sometimes Perseus suspected Dumbledore put Slytherins and Gryffindors together just for the fun of the arguing.

"Yeah." Yes, and that would distract him from his moping, which was all he really wanted. Perseus wasn't all that good on a broom, so he wasn't on the team. Watching Draco was a pretty good pastime, though.

Watching Draco and idling around and mostly wasting time playing score keeper. He'd had enough experience refereeing over the years that he managed to keep up with the game and keep astride his broom well enough. "Good. That last class was too quiet and too much sitting still for too long." At least potions was hands on.

That sharp nose wrinkled, mouth screwing up unpleasantly. "It was boring and frankly appalling. I wonder if I can still beg to go to Durmstrang instead." Not that he was serious about it, Perseus knew.

Hogwarts was in his blood. And Durmstrang was a bit too much up at five a.m. with jumping jacks in the courtyard and beet soup for lunch for either of their sakes. "Ugh, no. No, you'd regret it if you did. Even with as boring as it was."

Probably. Well, definitely, because it took someone physically dragging Draco out of bed in time for breakfast already. Getting up two and a half hours early for calisthenics would never be on the list of things he did willingly.

"Probably, but then I'd never have to walk in here again, and I might actually quite prefer that," Draco muttered, half under his breath.

"I'm sorry you miss him." He meant it sincerely, wished he could get Draco to stop missing him when he was right there, albeit a little less flamboyant, a little less able to be himself.

One shoulder raised in a slight shrug. "Yeah. Me, too."

For the most part, it was easy to distract him. Easy to keep him busy, but with a shitty class like Umbridge's before this one, there would be plenty of time for altogether too much introspection. It inspired it from the quiet, and the uselessness of the teaching. They settled in at their desk, and Perseus shuffled books, peering around the classroom and trying not to feel frustrated. There was lunch and Quidditch, which really did sound good, and maybe later he could corral Draco off to the dorm room for a little quiet study time.

He'd turned Draco into a perfectly horrible prefect.

The rest of the students trickled in, and class got started. It went on for a short eternity, and he caught Draco doodling on the edges of his scroll and his book. He never would have doodled before. It made Perseus want to smack his hand, and then maybe to kiss him just a little.

Both. He settled for elbowing him faintly in the ribs, just a nudge before Slughorn wandered past. "And next class, we'll be creating your first attempt at Draught of Peace potion."

 _Draught of Peace,_ Draco scrawled in his spiky handwriting. _I'd rather brew something less lily-livered and more... dunno. Vibrant._

 _The catalyst is a poison, Hellebore,_ Perseus wrote, making sure Draco could read it.

"Draught of Peace is very important for your OWLs. It's a finicky potion, but one that's well worth the time it takes to create. So I want everyone to read up, and be prepared for the practicum."

That seemed to perk him up a little, and he gave Perseus that sly little crooked smile that always meant he felt better. It also meant he was probably going to find some wee Gryffindors to dock points off of later. Draco Malfoy was snide, overly dramatic, and extraordinarily petty.

He was also a very good kisser, devoted to his house, and committed to the people he saw as his friends.

It was certainly an acceptable tradeoff, as Perseus had never been anything but a bit petty and potentially overly dramatic himself. He all but bolted out of his seat when Slughorn said, "Class dismissed!" so cheerily, loitering and waiting for Draco while Potter brushed past with a dark look in his eyes.

"Right," Draco told him, Crabbe and Goyle on his heels. "I have Ancient Runes next, so I'll see you at Quidditch practice." He cast Perseus a look that promised he'd see him after Quidditch practice, too, and that was a very nice thought.

"Right." He filed out, and started the slow loiter up towards his own classroom, feeling a little at a loss because Draco was off to his classes. He had Arithmancy, which was very interesting so far and would be a challenge. It was a mixed attendance course, but... it felt a little less companionable without Draco there. A little more like being himself, and he wasn't sure how much he liked that at all. He'd already been himself once, and that hadn't gotten him anywhere good. Being somebody else was already quite a bit better, and he hoped that would only continue to be true.

He was settling, little by little, into new skin. It was a work of mental gymnastics to shake off his old grudges and dislikes, but he was doing it, he was progressing. He had the opportunity to rewrite his existence and he was going to.

Even if it meant not sneering at Granger for being a precocious Mudblood. He was pretty sure he could manage that, at least for an hour.

Fairly certain, anyway. He'd managed it before and he would undoubtedly manage it again, but she still seemed to look at him with suspicion stamped across her face, two little lines between her brows as she frowned at him in concentration.

"Yes?" He dragged it out, and let his voice fall a little quieter while he turned towards her slightly more.

"Nothing." Oh, but he knew that little snap of voice, the crackle-pop of her fuzzy-headed brain in her skull, brilliant and sharp. She was still thinking about it, and that meant she was still a danger to him.

Maddening. There had to be a way to distract her from whatever her suspicion was, but did she still suspect he was a whore, or did she think he was some emissary of the Dark Lord, or...?

Or did he find an opportunity to perform a Legilimens, and find out for himself? Except that would draw more undue attention.

He settled with snorting at her, looking around as they all meandered in the hallway. "That's convincing."

Granger moved on ahead of him, glancing back with that same look that clearly said he had done something vile and sneaky to her. The girl had an almost uncanny knack for knowing things she shouldn't, and between that and her ability to get into impossible trouble with Weasley and Potter, it was enough to make him... not worry, but perhaps wary of her. "Yes, well, I have no particular need to convince you of anything, do I? After all, I quite think you are the one who is trying to convince me."

"You keep staring at me," Perseus pointed out. "It's rude, for a start. I haven't done anything to you, even if you are a Gryffindor."

They stepped into the classroom and she divested herself of her bag and her books before turning to look at him. "And you're a Slytherin who hangs around with Malfoy, so I'm sure that it's only a matter of time."

"No, I'm rather more interested in other occupations with our time. There's always..." He drawled it, letting the suggestion linger before adding, "Quidditch. He's handy with balls."

Oh, yes. That was exactly the look he was hoping to get, utterly flummoxed and blushing bright red, eyes so wide it was a miracle they didn't fall out of her head. "Averis! You...!!"

He shrugged his shoulders, unable not to smile as he loitered near his own chair which was just in front of hers. "It's an extracurricular sport. And I really haven't got any shame about it."

"Clearly not." There was something about the sharp way she said it that simply delighted him. "Try not to talk to me again today."

She was probably afraid he'd start talking about servicing brooms.

"Don't worry, I won't. Quidditch practice this afternoon." He offered that with sheer glee as he pulled his chair out to sit. Arithmancy was so much better when he'd shaken off his fear of discovery and turned it into something more manageable.

Professor Vector was in fine fettle for class, and it seemed to go quickly even with Granger blushing every time she looked at him. There was something awfully satisfying about that, so maybe that was part of the reason class seemed to be over so soon. He gathered up his things, shot her a cocky grin, and headed out for the Quidditch pitch.

He was really getting a lot of enjoyment out of life, even if he was sailing through classes. There was a lot to enjoy, including grabbing a broom and watching the Quidditch team he'd rooted for over the years practice without having to worry about tests to grade, potions to check the quality of, or other inane things that he hadn't actually cared about.

Draco was happier now, flying high, hovering in the wind and the sun so lightly it seemed like he'd never come down. Anything was better than Potions class, anyway, and then he swooped down, fast and keen, and Perseus couldn't help grinning fiercely at it. Even if he hadn't seen the Snitch, he was enjoying himself, too, and that was completely perfect.

He didn't need to see the Snitch to know that Draco was having a good time, to watch his knees grip tight to his broom as he ducked and wove, taking a sudden controlled plummet in his pursuit that made Perseus almost move to interfere.

One of the Beaters hit a bludger in Perseus's direction and it skimmed past underneath him, just missing Draco, who rolled his broom so that he was flying upside down and reached out a hand, snatching the Snitch just before he hit the grass and then flying back upwards with a delighted yell.

This was Slytherin house. Just like everyone else, really, only most of the time no one believed it was possible.

He almost lost his balance clapping, grinning at Draco's quick catch, the fact that he was so damn light on his broom. Draco was absolutely better than Lucius had been, though he'd never get the chance to say it more than he already had to Lucius. It was a shame, because Draco was absolutely better than he'd been the previous year.

It was a damned crying shame that Potter was just that good, too.

Draco reactivated the Snitch and then let go of it before floating up to where Perseus sat. His hair was loose and a little sweaty, mouth quirked upwards. "Think we stand much of a chance?"

"That depends on how much the other houses cheat. That was very good." He stressed the very, though it was hard to tell how much of a commendation Draco would take as an honest compliment and how much he thought Perseus was putting him on. "I would've been a splat on the ground if I tried that."

The grin it gained him was sharp and bright and a little vicious. That was one of the things he'd always quite liked about Malfoys. It was a shame that Lucius had lost some of that with all of his political maneuvering. He hoped Draco wouldn't. "Well, I've been flying since I was barely old enough to toddle. Stands to reason."

"Not everyone who's been flying that long is half as good as that, though. So it doesn't--" The Snitch buzzed him, and Perseus bent forward, holding tight to his broom. "Damn thing. Now it's taunting me. I'm not after you, he is!"

With a laugh, Draco reached out and caught it, not even trying. Then again, the Snitch probably knew he wasn't all that serious about it anymore. "So."

Whatever he was going to say was cut short as Bletchley yelled from the other end of the pitch. "For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, get back to Seeking! And not Averis!"

Perseus waved made a vague rude gesture at Bletchley, and floated away a little. "So, I'll leave you to it and just enjoy watching." So, so later, so he could do things that would make Granger's hair re-curl itself at the mere consideration, so he could laze with Draco and read and keep him out of trouble quite by accident.

It was a very good life he had now, and floating there, watching Quidditch practice (and mostly watching Malfoy), he knew he'd do absolutely anything to keep it and protect it.

* * *

  
Professor Umbridge was one scary old bitch.

Draco knew from scary; his great-aunt Walburga had verged on the psychotic, and her creepy house elf had given him nightmares as a child. Still, he was a Pureblood, and as such he had long since learned what to do in the case of particularly scary bitches -- make himself useful and stay out of the way as much as humanly possible.

Staying out of the way was sort of hard. Semi-hard, Draco decided, looking to the head table and then glancing over to where Perseus was reading some incomprehensibly boring tome while eating. Even when she ate, Umbridge surveyed all, like she was the headmaster, while the headmaster himself chatted with the other professors and carried on like a normal human being. It was frankly creepy, and it made him feel edgy, as if she had it out for him personally. Never mind that it was clearly Potter she had her eye on; he was pretty sure every student of every house felt like that basilisk gaze lingered hot and heavy on their own heads.

He poked his fork at a cream potato and popped it into his mouth thoughtfully. "There just isn't enough opportunity in the world to dock Gryffindor points," he declared a little mournfully. Being a prefect was something that he'd mostly ignored the first couple of weeks of school. The tragic loss of their Head of House had made him want to bury his head in the sand for a while. He still missed Professor Snape. Badly, maddeningly badly, but it had eased back from a sharp hot burning to a dull ache when he thought about him and what had _happened_.

Perseus snorted, and nudged his knee against Draco's, looking up from his book. "What, fifteen in one day wasn't enough? I'd say that's quite admirable. You had running in the halls, kissing in the halls, lurking, and floating fish through the air without making sure they'd been spelled to breath air."

Leaning back, he allowed a lazy smile to steal its way over his mouth. For some reason, Potter was glaring daggers at him from over at the Gryffindor tables. It just made him feel even more mellow and delighted with himself. "Well, if a Slytherin left a fish like that, it'd probably be Gregory and Vincent, and I couldn't very well dock them points, could I?" He leaned forward and put both hands under his chin to taunt Potter a little more. "And honestly, the mating rituals of Gryffindors are frankly disgusting."

"There's also an awful lot of senseless pining." Perseus closed his book slowly, eating a little more while he followed Draco's gaze. "And then promises of forever that last all of a week."

Slytherins had those, too, but most of them were aware that those were flings -- not forevers. Gryffindors clearly had their f-words confused. Flings were for fun. Bonding ceremonies were forever... especially if bank accounts got involved. Draco gave up smirking at Potter and turned to Perseus. "I suppose they miss the fjords. Finished yet? We can snag dessert and go." Their other two roommates would stay for a while longer, and Blaise was rumored to be having a fling with a Hufflepuff this week.

Ugh.

Hufflepuffs.

One last bite, and Perseus nodded, already turning on the bench. "Let's do that. Back to the room?" Or the commons, or. Sometimes he wanted to explore the castle, but that was more frowned about now than it had ever been. Slytherins mostly had the lake side of the castle to themselves; the Hufflepuffs didn't much roam through Slytherin territory, which was generally quite all right with Draco and his housemates.

He sort of missed being safe to wander wherever he liked. "Yeah, sure." He made sure to grab the biggest cupcake with the most icing.

"Or we could sit outside." Perseus let that offer linger while he grabbed a couple of biscuits.

However long that lasted, because again: scary old bitch with a fair twist of sadism from the rumors he'd heard about her using a blood quill in detention. Again, see Black family tree and Great-Aunt Walburga. "Yeah," he agreed, and tossed one more smarmy look over at Potter, just to keep him seething.

"He thinks you're out to get him," Perseus drawled, giving a wave to Potter as they headed for the huge open doors at the end of the hall. "I wonder why."

"Rampant paranoia and a good dose of really pissed off he can't figure out what I'm up to?" Draco suggested. "Isn't it lovely to be able to make Potter twitch?"

"Particularly when we're up to nothing at all." Perseus started to munch on one biscuit, right in step with Draco as they walked. "I get the same reaction out of Granger."

Draco bit into his cupcake and was pleasantly surprised to find it filled with raspberry jam. "Mmmm. Suspicious Gryffindors make it too easy."

It was easy. It was very very too easy, in Draco's opinion, but he was allowed to have easy. It didn't make up for the losses, but it did help. It was something else, a bit of a balance. It was Perseus giving him a thoughtful sideways glance in the seconds before they barreled into the headmaster coming around a corner.

That was suspicious because Draco had sworn he'd seen the man in the Great Hall when they'd left.

Frankly, Draco found the man sort of bizarre and creepy. He was altogether too fond of young Gryffindors in that whole _be careful of dirty old men inclined to cast Confundus, Draco darling_ way about which his mother had always warned him. "Er...."

"Mr. Averis." He was smiling and looking kind, and if that wasn't a warning, Draco had never seen one. "If you wouldn't mind coming by my office whenever you return from your current errand, I would greatly appreciate it."

"Oh. Of course." Of course, because Perseus was a bit of a suckup and not really as comfortable as Draco was in pulling a face instead.

The old man reached out and patted Draco on the shoulder -- ugh! -- and smiled as if it was perfectly acceptable. "It's good to see you looking more yourself, Mr. Malfoy." Then he wandered off, sort of tottering in his strangely heeled shoes.

"That man is cracked," Draco observed.

"Headmaster," Perseus shrugged. "But yes, that's possible. Still, he didn't have to let me stay, so... I'm vaguely interested in staying on his good side." Which meant anything serious was off the books until Perseus had time to find out what was going on. Which was a shame. After all, Slughorn left them all alone, and Draco had certainly come to enjoy that fact perhaps more than was strictly called for, exactly.

Oh, who was he kidding. It was a sybaritic bliss some evenings, and he'd rather been hoping this was one of them. So much for that particular hope. "Do you want to go ahead and see what he wants? I can just go back to the dorms." They had a potions exam in the morning. He could study.

Merlin knew the last time he'd actually buckled down and studied. He didn't really need to -- he and Perseus talked through things a lot, talked around and about subjects and it was keeping Draco in pretty good stead in the classroom. There was no hope of beating Granger, and he wasn't going to break his neck trying. "Yeah. Probably. Do you want my other biscuit?"

It might make up for the snogging he wasn't going to be getting. "Yeah," Draco sighed, holding out his hand.

"You look like I'm never coming back, not just getting probably counseled by the headmaster on being nice to Gryffindors." He put the biscuit in Draco's hand. "See you soon."

Yeah, it probably wouldn't take long, but... "Watch out for Confundus charms," Draco ordered strictly.

Just in case.

"Thank you for the completely scarring mental image, Draco. I promise to cherish it forever." Perseus grimaced artfully, and turned to head back the way they'd came. It was silly, but it was better to say it and have Perseus laugh at him than not to say it and be right.

Maybe, Draco thought, he'd just sort of wait near the headmaster's office. And maybe he'd save Perseus's biscuit for him, too.

* * *

  
Headmaster's office wasn't good.

It never had been good, because it had always meant he'd done something wrong, or there was something that needed to be addressed. It was never a friendly chat to see how things were, no, and as low as the headmaster's presence had been until then, it was. Worrisome.

Possibly even terrifying if he hadn't been made of sterner stuff.

The gargoyle jumped out of the way without benefit of a password, which was enough to make him twitch even if he hadn't already been so inclined. He took a step onto the stairway and found himself very shortly in Dumbledore's office.

The headmaster was sitting behind his desk and he blinked comically to see Perseus there. "I hadn't expected you so soon."

"Since Draco and I were just going to study, I thought it best to get it over with." He managed what felt like a rather smooth, realistic smile, hands folded behind his back while he waited for some kind of instruction.

"Hrm. Have a seat, please. I wanted to ask you about a rather advanced form of magic... but I suspect you might have begun to learn it naturally, so to speak, in your life before Hogwarts." Definitely suspicious.

"I haven't done anything." It was best to start there, because he had been on extraordinary behavior, not even hazing the younger Gryffindors as much as he sometimes itched to do. Even Draco had been going light on it, but that was mostly because he was still getting accustomed to the way things had changed.

Dumbledore nodded seriously. "Indeed, but I thought of all the students here, you seemed the one more naturally inclined. Have you ever heard of Legilimency?"

"And if I have?" He asked it nonchalantly, letting it linger. Why ever was Dumbledore going down that line of thought? It wasn't as if it had ever been taught at Hogwarts.

He leaned back, fingers steepled in thought. "Then I would ask if you had also heard of Occlumency. I suspect you might have an.... inborn aptitude for these particular branches of magic. Neither requires the use of a wand, and I believe that you might have -- unconsciously -- learned these sorts of magic in order to better protect yourself."

Perseus shifted, and rocked back on his heels for a moment. If he lied and said no, Dumbledore would try something and he'd be forced to rebuff him. If he admitted it... he wasn't sure what came next. "I might've, yes. Why?"

The old man drew in a deep breath. "There is a student here at Hogwarts in need of Occlumency lessons. The unfortunately departed Professor Snape would have been my preference, but I find now that I am... what is the phrase? Ah. Between a rock and a proverbial hard place. I was hoping that perhaps you might be skilled enough to provide such tutoring."

He compressed his lips though it didn't really forestall the hundred things he wanted to say in response to that. Half of them were extremely rude. "I don't... Why would someone need to learn to block their mind?"

It seemed that the question gave him pause, made Dumbledore look at him. When he finally spoke, it was slow and quiet. "What are your political leanings, Mr. Averis?"

"I believe the Dark Lord's come back. As I can't be entirely certain what sort of blood I have, that sort of leaves me at a rough end, doesn't it? Not that anyone's doing anything about it." Headmaster included some days. He'd always been unfathomable to Perseus, one of the most powerful wizards of the age just letting wizards like Riddle run wild, convening armies and orders and never lifting a hand personally until it was too late.

There were so many reasons to be grateful that he was Perseus Averis now.

"I'm looking for someone skilled in Occlumency to tutor another student. I think that if you are skilled as I believe then you would make a much better teacher than I."

"Why? I don't... I don't know how to teach anything, really." He still wondered who the student was. Prying into someone's mind, his politics...

Potter.

Of course it would be bloody Potter, it was always Potter. Dumbledore had provided the Slytherins with a piss-poor Head of House replacement, was more or less writing them off as a total loss, all so he could concentrate on angry suspicious Harry Potter.

He'd like to pretend that it was a surprise, but the truth of it was that he'd be more surprised by night falling and the sun rising in the east.

Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps not, but would you be willing to try?"

"Of course. I can try. I'm not sure it'll do any good, but I can try." He didn't want to, and he was pretty sure Potter didn't want him to teach him, either. Strange bedfellows.

Draco was going to be absolutely delighted. They'd have to call it remedial potions or something, and it was going to be dangerous, in the end. If he taught Potter Occlumency, Legilimency was only a step behind. He'd have to be prepared, and he'd need to have even more layers than usual to prevent Potter from getting through.

"Excellent." Dumbledore seemed quite pleased with himself. "I shall give you a day or so to prepare yourself and once you and I have finished testing, I shall inform Harry Potter that you will be tutoring him."

Testing. "I'm sure he'll be terribly excited. Can I go, now?" Perseus wanted to slink off and at least try to enjoy his evening. At least a little.

Crabbe and Goyle were probably still sitting in the Great Hall, anyway. Hopefully.

Dumbledore nodded and leaned back in his chair. He looked tired and old and the person Perseus had been once worried about that. "Of course. Have a good evening, Mr. Averis."

He still wanted to be worried about the headmaste except he'd died and no one had come to help him. He'd given his life to the cause, midpoint to end, and... and. It was selfish of him, Perseus supposed. He waved, and turned, heading for the stairs.

"Oh, and before you go... cockroach cluster?"

Merlin, the man was bizarre.

He felt his face scrunch up for a moment, and then he turned back towards the headmaster, knowing his mouth looked crooked and that Merlin knew what was showing in his eyes. "Sometimes you're a very worrisome headmaster, sir."

"Undoubtedly, Perseus." The old man smiled, though, and rose from his desk, dropping a handful of candies in his hand before waving him off again.

"Good night, headmaster." He headed for the stairs again, chewing on a candy because while the name was somewhat vile, the taste was warm and nutty and caramel-y, and he'd never been able to say no to candy.

He supposed the Headmaster knew that, too. But as long as no one was talking about it, that was fine by him.

The gargoyle moved out of the way again with a grinding noise and he stepped out into the hallway, still frowning. He had to admit that he wasn't entirely surprised to see Draco there in the dark, blond hair a bright spot in the darkness. His face was set in a distinct frown, and he eyed Perseus's hand before blurting out, "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to take candy from strange wizards?" Then he shook his head and stepped forward, peering at him closely. "Well, you don't look Confunded, but I'm not sure whether to be worried or not."

"Cockroach cluster?" He held one out in offer, still chewing on his first one. "He wants me to tutor a Gryffindor. I gave in. I suppose I might as well, it's better than being in trouble."

Draco used a particularly filthy word and then scowled more deeply. "Honestly, could he be any more clichéd? Next you'll tell me he said you had ought to come back tomorrow for extensive testing before you're allowed to tutor the filthy creature." All the same, he took the sweet, if only to eye it suspiciously.

"Actually, yes." Perseus's mouth twisted sideways for a moment as he leaned his back against the wall. "Anyway, he wouldn't do any such thing. I have a suspicion he prefers men his own age. So. Ignoring that you seem obsessed by the idea of the headmaster molesting me, how about we go back to Slytherin house and I molest you."

It didn't keep him from shooting a dark look at the gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office. Draco's distrust of the old man made him feel incredibly warm, and a great deal more inclined to further their current... activities. "Well, all right. But I'm coming back with you tomorrow, and no arguing."

"Really, Draco. When a powerful wizard is so inclined, it..." Perseus's tongue stayed to the roof of his mouth. "Well, it isn't pleasant and it's a lot less funny than it is scary as shit. It's fine."

Except for the part where clearly it wasn't; he wanted Draco needy and sweaty and writhing, not giving him that worried little look quickly hidden behind a moue of distaste. Slytherin to the core, and there was no denying it. "Yes. Well. I'll still feel better if I come back with you, though."

"Fine, fine." Perseus started to eat another cockroach cluster, and sighed, pushing away from the wall. He started to walk and Draco at least went with him. "Didn't the old head of house ever ask you to lend a hand?"

Draco's mouth turned sharply downwards, brows knitting. "That was entirely different. That was Professor Snape. He'd have never had a wayward thought or molested me in exchange for chocolate." The color rising in his face made it hard not to smirk. "Or I'd probably have tried it this year if...."

If.

"He probably wouldn't have, seeing as you speak so highly of him. It's not quite done if you're a professor, is it?" He liked to think Draco thought more highly of him than to expect it would've worked. Now, in another year...

That was a heavy sigh. "Well, no, but in another year, Father will probably start looking into betrothals." He didn't seem all that happy about it.

"He will? That's..." Perseus shrugged his shoulders tightly, handing Draco another candy. "I suppose you will. Finish your NEWTs, start a ministry job, marry and have kids right off?"

Those grey eyes narrowed at the candy despite the fact that he had already eaten one. "That's Father's plan. My mother has a few different ideas. I'm hoping she can talk him around for a few years yet."

"And what're your plans?" He asked it out of idle curiosity, out of having to consider what he wanted to do for a second time.

Draco licked his lips, cleaning off a smear of chocolate from the upper curve. "To enjoy myself for as long as I have the opportunity. Hopefully with you."

It felt like a warm sensation curling in his belly while they started to descend into the dungeons. "Well, we can start with your bed and see where we end up from there..."

It was so much more enjoyable being himself now than it had been before that he sometimes wondered how he could bear it. Seeing Draco shoot him that sly glance from the corner of his eyes was a significant part of it. If he had to live through pubescent hormones twice, at least this time it was made bearable. "Let's hurry, then."

He almost surprised himself when he started forward in a jog. "Let's see if you can beat me there!" And given as fast as Draco was as seeker, he was going to win. It was inevitable, but he enjoyed the chance to run, and it was fun even if he was going to lose.

By the time they made it to the commons, they were both panting and laughing, Draco pink-cheeked and turning around backwards once they reached the hidden entrance, smirking. "I might be shorter than you, but I am still faster, Averis."

"I think you greased your hips," Perseus panted, bending over for a moment, one hand on his side. "I'm going to blame the stairs."

Gryffindors would never believe that a Slytherin could laugh like that, all pleasure and enjoyment. "We were running down them!"

"No, no, they kept coming up to meet my feet!" He waved a hand, laughing as he stood up tall and stretched. "Damn. I need to exercise more. After you!"

A whisper of the password slipped through those lips and then Draco was running again, just ahead of him. He darted into the common room and Pansy waved as he ran past, calling out something about Charms. "Got Potions work to do!"

It was all he could do to keep up with Draco, though he wasn't surprised that Draco slowed by the time they got to their quarters, that he let Perseus snag his waist, but only once he'd clearly won. "Hah, finally."

Finally, and they were already breathing heavily, but it was still something of a surprise when Draco was hard against him. Running like that must've been a bugger. "Finally."

He slid a hand down, gently palming that erection through all those layers of fabric. "You're eager. All that daydreaming about what might've been happening to me in that office, huh?"

Oh, that was an amusing face. "Say that again and I'll go soft. I swear it. No, I was worrying about you but... there's just something about you." Something that he quite clearly liked because he was pulling him in, hand on the nape of his neck, thumb rubbing gently just below his ear. "You make me want."

"Good. I'd hate not to be wanted." He leaned into that thumb, leaned in to kiss him just because he tasted good. Draco always tasted good, and tasting good with candy already on his lips was better. Tongue and chocolate, and the way he opened, gave in because that was what Perseus wanted, was amazing. He walked them backwards, pushing Draco onto his bed and watching him squirm his way to the center, looking at him with kiss-reddened lips and heavy grey eyes.

He pulled at his tie, loosening it and smirking. The fact that he found that utterly bewitching was just ridiculous. "I sincerely doubt you have to worry much about that."

"Well, it's still nice." He started to take off his own clothes. He could move slow and sultry if he needed to, the body was well suited for it, but Draco always made him rush, lose his self-consciousness, his self-awareness. All the muscle memory sex was at a loss for performing an act in which he was actually interested.

The thing of it was that Draco was stupidly attractive to him. His too-sharp nose, the shape of his jaw, the ridiculously tucked back hair, it all made him want nothing more than to kiss him silly, to put his hands on all of the parts of him hidden beneath robes and school uniform. By the time Perseus had managed to strip himself, Draco was down to his boxers and using his wand to jerk closed the curtains around his own bed.

Most of all, he hoped they both survived to the day when they could have sex without having to hide and be able not to have to worry constantly about concealing spells or having to keep quiet. He cast a light spell in the space, liking the way it played off of Draco's face while he slid a hand into his boxers. The reaction was immediate and sweet, and one day, he was going to do more than just this. One day, but for now his hand was on Draco's cock and the other boy flung his head back and gasped before reaching greedily to pull him in closer.

No one would ever imagine that Malfoy looked anything like this -- open and grasping and sex-flushed before they'd even really started. It was all his, all for him, and he was possibly incredibly grateful for the way things had worked out for him.

It was all masturbation, rubbing against each other, playing with taking how long it took for Draco to get off, how long it took to get himself off. It was amazing, all by itself. Just feeling good, and he knew Draco wanted more, but he wanted to wait for that. He wanted Draco to want _him_ , just him, not someone dead at all, even a little bit. If that made him greedy, then so be it. He wanted to be it, and maybe he couldn't have it perfect. But he'd wait a little while longer, when he could take his time leaning over Draco, sucking a perfect mark to the left of one nipple. Draco laughed, and tugged at him, pulling him up to kiss him, and that was... so nice. They could kiss forever, get off just from that, but tonight he wanted so much. He just wanted, and he could feel the response to it, feel the way Draco was pushing against him, hard against his side.

"Mmhm, tell me what you want." He leaned back a little, just enough to watch Draco's face and mouth, waiting for his response to show before the words came.

The way his lips trembled just a little before he sighed made him throb. "I want you to touch me. Everywhere." Everywhere, which was quite a charming thought -- the crooks of his elbows, the backs of his knees, the crease of his thigh, hidden places no one ever saw.

"I can try." He licked the side of Draco's neck, followed it with a kiss. He rather liked that idea, kissing every part of Draco, sliding his mouth over every line of muscle he had. Nipples, navel, virgin skin in places no one without his experience would think of touching.

Draco curled in around him, head shifted on Perseus's pillows to give him access. His hand stroked down his spine, lingering near the small of his back, and when he breathed out shakily with the tiniest of sounds, it stoked the lust in him higher. He let his hands linger down towards Draco's cleft, but then moved to the side, past it, to the bend of his thigh just beneath his ass that was just as sensitive. It was the right move, because he went liquid-willing underneath him, pushing against his belly. "Please."

Please. Perseus loved that word, kissed it out of his mouth, and Draco said it again.

Please.

Please. Please. And he wanted to wait, wanted everything to happen only when Draco didn't love him, the other him, except it was still him, and was that so bad? Because he wanted, he wanted to do so much more with Draco, to show him things that would get him a string of soft pleas and those rocking hips. "I want to do so much with you."

"Then do it." Merlin's beard, how was he supposed to resist that look through dark blond lashes, the twist and flex of Draco's body against him?

The fucking invitation?

He exhaled hard, and leaned in again to kiss him, and damn his plans. His plans hadn't been very good or firm ones to begin with and this was so much nicer, sliding a hand over Draco's hip, to the outside of his thigh and feeling him moan more than hearing it. He wanted everything, he wanted to touch him, he wanted to do so many things, and Draco was so damned willing. He was hard, and he was sliding his palms down Perseus's chest to use his thumbs against his nipples, a slow, steady rub that turned to a vicious pinch at one point, making him jump. Draco laughed at that, a certain amount of delight in the sound, and that was a good thing between them. Laughter in bed tended to be either derisive or delightful, and this was definitely the latter.

Draco liked making him jump, making him react as much as he made Draco react and squirm. "Uhm, that's not so bad..." Still, he wanted to squirm away, squirm down, suck Draco while he tried to slide a finger into his ass. Just. To see, to feel how comfortable Draco was with the idea.

"Not so bad?" He sounded a little indignant. "Poor praise, that." Licking his lips, Draco rocked against him again. "Want me to do something else, then?"

"Let me know how this feels?" He grinned at Draco, giving one kiss to soothe any perceived indignity before he started on his planned path. Draco's breath hitched, twisted under his mouth, a sharp inhale.

"Right." The sound warbled just a little, Draco turning onto his back as Perseus slid further down his body. "Okay. I'll... oh, fuck."

"We could." Just to see what he thought about it verbally, while he kept kissing Draco's stomach. His focus was on his hands, sliding them around to squeeze Draco's ass gently, firmly. For just a second, Draco seemed to go still, and his breathing paused. Then it picked up again and he shifted just a little, tentatively. Perseus was pretty sure that he'd finished off the book his mother had sent, so it likely didn't shock him too much, but still. "Or we can not, if you, I wouldn't pressure you." He was falling over his own words, but he didn't stop kissing at Draco's stomach, feeling the motion of his hips start to go less perfectly still. Slowly, though.

He seemed to think about it, and Perseus could see the high color stealing its way down his chest, the way he licked his lips and blinked before he nodded and then brought a hand up to rest it across his eyes. It was tentative and sweet and it made him want so much.

It made him want to keep Draco forever. "I'll stop if you tell me." And he was going to start small, just one finger. Slicking it was easy, a mumble of a spell without his wand before he slid it down along Draco's ass cleft. He was moving again, squirming under him, and that pink tongue darted out, moistening his upper lip before Draco gave a hiccough of sound, an almost moan that he swallowed a little, knees parting further around Perseus.

Whether he changed his mind or not later, Perseus was confident that he was at least enjoying. The slow parting was enough to make him smile and move down just enough to kiss the underside of Draco's jutting cock. Time to turn that stroking finger into more of a slow probe, then.

"Ohhhh." Barely more than a breath, and he wasn't certain if that was in response to his finger or his mouth, but Draco's breathing was coming faster and he was definitely peeking at him from underneath his wrist. "I..."

"Yes?" Perseus lifted his head, stopped, held still. He wasn't even half a knuckle in, just enough to be hard with anticipation and aching to do more.

He heard Draco swallow, felt the way he was holding himself still, uncertain. "That's... odd." Odd, but not bad. Good.

"Just... give it a minute or two." He eased that slick finger in a little more, working it back out. There were spells to make everything lovely and lax, but he didn't want to do that. Perseus wanted to do it with his own fingers, pry him open sweet and slow, ease him into the idea of this sort of thing. He was so hard himself that he didn't know if he could bear it, and he pressed his lips lightly to Draco's prick again, and he hiccoughed a sound just as the door to their dorm opened.

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, and Merlin take the head of whoever was coming in. He held still, didn't dare move a muscle while he waited to see who it was.

"Think they're already asleep?" Greg asked thoughtfully.

Draco was shaking under him, and now his hand was firmly down over his mouth as if to muffle any sound he might make.

"Maybe. I'd rather not get my hand hexed off checking." Opening Perseus's bed curtains were right out, after all, even if he kept his intimidation habits to a minimum.

"You wanna work on that Divinations scroll? 's due tomorrow."

"Yeah. Uhm, lemme get it." There was the sound of them rummaging through someone's footlocker, and Perseus was almost afraid to exhale through his nose. They absolutely needed to find somewhere else, some other way to get away with what they were doing.

He was going to hex them both if they didn't leave, posthaste, and Draco.... Draco was still shaking, both hands clamped over his mouth now, and he gave a squirm that got Perseus's finger a little deeper. He heard the footlocker fall closed, and slowly leaned back, off of Draco's dick. Almost home free, if they'd just...

"Oh, get another quill. I always break them."

Right. He was going to have to kill them all, and if Zabini came in after this, he couldn't be held responsible for anything he did.

When the door shut behind them, Perseus exhaled hard. "Finally!"

Finally, and Draco went a little limp, hands falling to his sides. "Merlin."

"I need to think of a way to solve this." He pressed a kiss to his stomach, and started to move his finger just a little again. That seemed to bring the tension back to Draco again, and now he was watching openly instead of hiding.

"Still feels.... nnngh." Odd, he supposed, but Perseus damn well knew what he was doing, and the reaction that got him was an unsteady flexion of hips, trembling thighs. "Fuck!" And he was still only one finger in, stroking Draco so gently, easily. The reaction made it difficult to be patient, and his hormones made it more so, but he could manage.

He could.

Would, too, leaning in to suck Draco's cock again while he eased his finger back in prelude to sliding it all the way in. He wanted to go all the way, but if he didn't, it was a good step towards getting there, and Gregory and Vincent wouldn't be back for ages. A Divinations scroll would take them a while.

Draco's thighs shook, and he was sweating lightly, hands held above his head as if he needed them there to keep him from doing something else -- pulling Perseus close or stroking himself off or who knew what. That was deeply interesting, and then he hit that spot again and Draco mewled, giving a full body shudder. "Nnnngh!"

He hummed around Draco's erection, and started to try easing in a second finger. Draco was too close to coming for it to really last, and he was sure it wouldn't take long. He was so tight, clamping around him, and then he cursed again and pushed up, and he was gone, coming in Perseus's mouth with hardly any effort at all. He swallowed it, and pulled back with a faint smirk. "Well, I'd have to say that was successful."

The way Draco looked at him was beautiful -- all pink flush and silvery gaze nearly swallowed by the black of his pupils, sweaty and wrecked. His hands pulled down tentatively from where he'd kept them and he reached, tugging at him, wanting him, and so he went, sliding up Draco's body to rest over him. "That was...." Whatever it was didn't matter, because Draco was kissing him, and all he wanted in that moment was to get off, to come rubbing between Draco's thighs.

He would, fast, eager, and that was something they were going to have to do regularly now and it made Perseus delighted because yes. Yes, he liked all of Draco's body, every inch of it. It was all his. "Good?"

"So good." A breathy answer, and he squeezed his legs together around Perseus's cock when it slipped between them. There was quite a bit of friction, only a little sweat to help him along, but that was okay. That was good, and he shoved as Draco held him, kissed him, made him want to come. Made him want more, but he'd get it. Later, and this, skin on skin and hot and sweaty with Draco sensitive from just coming, was very good, something he could lose himself in. Something he never wanted to lose, and there were hard fingers on the nape of his neck, Draco whining in the back of his throat.

They'd probably both be hard in another twelve minutes, anyway.

"Please..." Please, just a little more friction, Draco squeezing his thighs together, and that was beautiful. He gave a few more jerking thrusts and just laid there atop Draco, enjoying sweaty skin.

When he finally spoke, it dragged Perseus up from a vague not-quite-doze. "That was... brilliant." That admission seemed a little reluctant, but a glance at Draco's vaguely embarrassed face made him smirk just a little.

"Thank you. I pride myself in being brilliant." He stretched finally, shifting a little just to laze beside Draco rather than entirely atop him. It got him an interesting squirm and then a slow shift into comfort before he earned an answer.

"Well, it is good to know I never need worry about your false modesty, Averis." Mockery, yes, but the kind between people who were friends, or more. Definitely more.

"I'm terribly humble," Perseus denied, sliding fingers through Draco's hair because he could. It was soft, loose, and it made him hum beneath the touch.

"I'd noticed." They were both still a little sweat-damp, especially in the places between them where they were pressed skin to skin. "Of course, I suppose it's horribly well justified."

"Best way to be." His mouth curled into a smile as he stretched one leg. "So. Do you have any homework you need doing, or should we slink off to the showers?" Smelling of sex and sweat, and half of the damn dungeon would probably knew what they got up to if they weren't careful.

If it meant none of them touched what was his, he didn't know if he'd regret it.

Draco's jaw popped on a wide yawn. "We could start the History of Magic paper on the Burning Times. Or we could lie here and do it again in a bit." If they didn't fall asleep, anyway.

He let his hand linger on Draco's belly, fingers stretched wide. "That last one."

It would be a great deal more enjoyable, in any case.

* * *

  
At least he had a quiet place in the side room off of the potions classroom to handle it in. He didn't fetch Potter, just told him when to be there, and he cleared it with Slughorn who was really very negligent in a way that left Perseus torn between wanting to abuse it and being angry because that was not what Slytherin house needed just then. It needed someone more active, someone trying to guide and steer, and Slughorn was just trying to watch out for his own hide.

He started to warm a cauldron, because if anyone did come in he was going to have something stable being brewed just in case. He wasn't stupid, nor had he explained the whole Occlumency-Legilimency thing to Draco as yet. Probably he should, and possibly he should start teaching it to him rather literally. Instead, he told him that Dumbledore had Potter taking remedial potions, which had pleased the other young man immensely. Draco, when smarmy, was at once irritating and delightful.

When Potter walked in, he had a look on his face that implied he was under duress and entirely pissed right off. It was a remarkably enjoyable notion. In all honesty, he had wondered if Potter would ever get an ounce of _balls_ , although he did seem to be carrying it to extremes.

"Averis." Potter sounded pissy, mouth compressed, brows pulled together.

He looked just like his bloody father.

"Shut and lock the door behind you," Perseus murmured, waving a hand vaguely at him. "Did the headmaster tell you what we were going to be doing?"

Potter moved further into the room, eyeing him with suspicion. "Yeah. Something about a kind of magic called Occlu... Occlumency. Said you were good at it."

"Yes. I can block my mind to wizards who are Legilimens," he offered. "Like. Like the Dark Lord." If he sounded uncertain about that, it was all for the best.

The curl of that lip was equal to any dirty look Draco had ever given anyone. "Yeah? And who's to say you're not inclined to join him? Most of the Slytherins probably are."

Perseus's mouth twisted up a little. "If you say something often enough, it becomes true. Doesn't it? Do you want the Dark Lord in your mind?"

That seemed to be enough to make Potter pull himself back from whatever pissypants sulk he had going on. "Right. So what exactly is involved in this whole thing, anyway?"

"Sit there on the chair. First, you need to experience what happens when a Legilimens does what they want." He stood in front of Harry, and pulled out his wand. That look of panic was distinctly enjoyable. It was all he could do not to purr with the pleasure of it. "It's not a skill that's normal in Wizards, and I learned it instinctively so... this might not be pleasant," he warned, bringing his own wand to bear. " _Legilimens_!"

Flash of memory, a chubby boy on a red bicycle, a ridiculous highly bred dog chasing after Potter while obnoxious Muggles laughed, the woman vaguely familiar in a way that implied Perseus knew who she was. The Sorting feast, and the hat was implying he'd do well in Slytherin. A variety of other images, fast, steady, and then a sharp stinging at his wrist and Potter was on his knees on the floor.

"Did you mean to do that?" he asked, scowling. Potter was looking at his wand and then looking at Perseus, bitter and twitchy.

"No," he answered, dragging himself up from the floor.

He lifted his eyebrows at him, watching him get to his feet slowly. "That's what I hope to teach you to block. Get comfortable." He gestured with his wand.

"Bastard." It was hard, a rancorous response. "So tell me where to start, then. That'd be preferable to just being mentally invaded."

"There's no spell for it." He put his own wand away. "It's more like fast meditation. You need to blank your mind. Let go of your emotions. Have you ever done that before?"

Potter's jaw was clenched. "Did you see everything that I saw?"

"Yes. And I'm going to keep doing it until you put up a reasonable defense against me." He glanced sideways at the cauldron for a moment. It was doing just fine, bubbling right along.

"Yeah, well, better instructions would help!" He was drawing himself together, though, clearly making an attempt. Perseus still couldn't find it in himself to like him much.

" _Legilimens_!"

He ran it through again -- different memories, and he kept it shorter, but enough to prove his point. Enough that when he pulled back from Harry, the other boy knew he'd been had again. "Unfortunately, there is no such thing. You need to barricade your mind. Remove whatever weakness in yourself that's causing the holes. You cannot allow yourself to be emotional or angry or react, you must simply be firm."

Potter was panting, teeth clenched. "Yeah, well. I'm finding that a bit difficult just at this moment!"

"I've blocked minds while being brutalized, Potter. When you're undergoing _Cruciatus_ and you find it a bit difficult, I'll believe you. If I make you this angry, then the Dark Lord has an open backyard gate into your mind."

"Yeah, well, Voldemort..."

"Don't say his name!"

That caught his attention, green eyes narrowing. They made his heart do funny things, or maybe it was his stomach. Old memories, and he didn't want to think about those, ever. Never again. "Why not?"

It was, possibly, the age. It was, it was the closeness of the memories and the threat and he wasn't thinking about it, couldn't think about it. Was going to remain calm and placid. "Because."

Clearly that answer was unacceptable. "You sound like my bloody aunt Petunia. Because! What kind of answer is that?"

"Because he's the Dark Lord. Because to say his name is to legitimize him. It wasn't even his real name." He went with disgust over fear.

Potter was stiff. "He's made everyone afraid of saying it. I'd say that legitimizes it a hell of a lot more than just calling him it. Might as well face it, and Dumbledore uses it..."

"And Dumbledore is an anciently powerful old wizard. And my thoughts on what he can do directly is... Mmph." Perseus shook his head slightly. "Block your mind, Potter."

"Fine." Short, sharp. He wasn't going to be able to do it this way. "Let's go again."

This was going to take a while.

* * *

  
Draco Malfoy loved playing Quidditch.

It had everything to do with the sport, to start with. He'd been riding brooms since he was tiny, and he adored it just for the freedom in the air. And then there was the competitive portion of playing and winning and winning and winning, or losing as the referees were apparently blind and in love with Gryffindor. There was knowing that he was being cheered on by the better part of his House, adoration that had nothing to do with who his father was and everything to do with him being a damn good Seeker.

And then there was taunting Potter even when he didn't catch the snitch personally.

The song had been a special touch, spread out over the whole of Slytherin, Pansy coming up with a completely amazing tune for it and everything. Ridiculing Weasley was almost as good as harrying Potter; it was a two-for-one deal, and yet Potter caught the fucking Snitch all the same, that bastard. Why was it that Draco could wipe the pitch with Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, but Harry bloody Potter always caught the damn Snitch?

There was no easy way to boobytrap it, or else he would have.

Mouthing off was as close as he could get, though, and he'd stirred it up a little. He knew that. He'd done it on purpose, he'd _wanted_ to make them feel as stupid as they were.

He just hadn't wanted _his fucking nose broken_. That violent damned Half-blood and the Weasley twin, Gil or whatever, or maybe it was Phil. One of them, anyway.

Potter had always been obnoxious but violence was a new take on things. Vincent was laughing, which he did when he got proper nervous. Greg was kneeling beside him, and the world was insane, made up of pain and flashes of the world and he was coughing on the blood that was spilling down the back of his throat.

Sweet Merlin, he was _bleeding_ all over the place, and he was two steps from completely histrionic.

He was flailing back and maybe it wasn't a good show at all, except he heard Madam Hooch, and Perseus and then Potter was off of him and there was shouting, and possibly, possibly he was hysterical.

"Draco!"

"He broge my nothe!" Draco shrieked, high pitched, blood going just... everywhere. "Podder, he..." Oh, oh, Dallben, Potter broke his _nose_ and he was going to be black and blue all over and he flailed wildly as Greg tried to help him up and Perseus came forward in a rush from wherever he'd been watching.

Perseus held his jaw steady, even as Greg tried to, well, Draco didn't know. Pin him still, except he wasn't a butterfly. "Stop squirming and stop screaming, Draco." For half a second, Draco swore it was Snape, and he was sure Potter hadn't hit him that hard. Surely not, because Perseus was all murky brown hair and brown eyes and flinging some kind of spell at his face and he squealed when it hit.

Fucking _ow_! He shrieked, because it hurt like fire, an explosion of pain that shoved its way up into his sinuses and made his knees go impossibly watery all at once, his whole head feeling like it had exploded. Greg's hold on him seemed to be holding him up still, although he wasn't sure how exactly.

"Breathe. Holding your breath won't help." He was finally lowered, and Draco tottered while Perseus knelt with him. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

"I'd rather break Potter's nose!" Draco could still taste blood in the back of his throat and it was all over him, oh, his own blood, and that was definitely not something he needed to see. It made him all woozy and he wanted to shriek about it.

"Oh, for the love of magic. Just close your eyes." He felt Perseus pull at him. "C'mon, off the pitch."

He sounded less like Professor Snape now, but it still made Draco feel utterly strange about... well. Everything. Was he so shallow that almost Severus Snape was enough?

...possibly. He was shallow enough that he had pulled out first year insults to toss at the Gryffindors this Quidditch game, anyway.

"But I'm all over blood, and..." And sounding a little strident, but. _Blood_. His father would probably be yelling at him now, telling him to be a man about it, but honestly.

 _Blood_!

His own blood and his nose had been broken even if Perseus had fixed it. "I know, but would you rather fight on the pitch or get revenge quietly later?"

Good question. Fighting on the pitch had never been part of his plan, but he supposed he ought to have considered the possibility. "Crazy violent Half-blood," he moaned, allowing Perseus to lead him through all of the people gathering around. There were teachers there somewhere, but clearly they weren't that interested in injured Slytherins.

"Watch the half-blood slurs," Perseus tsked, leading him over the greens. It was going to be too too long a walk, but.

"Well, he is." Crazy and violent and his mother had been a Mudblood and that was just a damnable fact. "Particularly the first two parts. He broke my bloody nose!" Literally. There would be wailing and gnashing of teeth, because he'd have black eyes and he'd look completely awful.

Draco wondered if that was an acceptable excuse for staying in bed until it was better. He wasn't sure the nurse wouldn't just heal him to spite him. "Well, yes, but. I think you'll survive once we get you seen to."

Gryffindors were so bloody violent. "I don't want just to survive, I want my perfect nose in place!" He needed a mirror, damn it.

"I fixed your nose." Perseus sounded put upon. "It's as perfect as it’s ever been."

Yes, and he'd seemed so much like Professor Snape that Draco still felt traumatized. "Well. But I need to see it!" he wailed, reaching up to touch. It was sore and his whole face hurt and oh, his nose!

Perseus shrugged as they walked in through the side door of the castle. Well, one of hundreds of them. "Haven't got a mirror on me."

Of course he didn't. Draco hissed and started glancing around for a bathroom. Honestly, he'd have thought _someone_ would have been interested in him, Pansy was usually throwing herself about as dramatically as... well, he did when these things happened. Then again, the Quidditch pitch had been chaos, and everyone was likely planning to hang Potter and then burn the body.

It seemed a satisfactory recourse to him.

It would've been a shame if he missed Potter's execution, but he supposed he'd live without that infamous moment. "Infirmary, Draco." Perseus pulled at him when he veered because he knew there was a bathroom just around that corner that they were passing.

"But...!" Mirror. He needed a mirror!

"Infirmary _now_ ," Perseus snapped, and all right, he knocked a shin on the first stair they went up. Who decided to put the infirmary someplace that there's be a short flight of stairs to get to?

Clearly it was because Gryffindors were extremely accident prone and idiotic. "But... at least tell me it really is straight." Not that he didn't believe it, only he needed to see.

His mother was going to be furious.

"It's really very straight." Perseus said it with a tone of promise in his voice. "Really, do you think I'd dare foul that up?"

"Of course not!" But it was his _nose_. Plus, there was the whole thing where he could have sworn, just for a few minutes... That threw him off even worse, because the professor was gone, and okay, he'd had time to get past that, but what if he didn't lo... like Perseus for himself at all? It was an appalling idea, and he didn't know what to say about it or how to face it.

He was going to have to face it, but later. Later.

Later when Perseus wasn't waving to Madam Pomfrey. "Potter broke Draco's nose. I reset it, but..."

She was all bustling no-nonsense, which Draco hated. He missed his mother when these things happened, because she petted him and let him howl about it if he liked. "Settle him down just there, Mr. Averis. Oh, those are going to be terrible black eyes, let me fetch something from the potions stores."

"See?" Perseus walked him over to the bed, and sat there with him. "And we can work out what to do about Potter at our leisure."

"How about breaking his legs?" Draco muttered sulkily. "I was expecting a meltdown, not a broken nose."

"Something more subtle." His mouth compressed tightly together, and he shook his head a little. "We could publicly humiliate him."

That sounded promising. He leaned against Perseus and laid his head on his shoulder. He was tired, his whole head felt like it had been bashed against rocks, and what if he was only having this thing with him because he reminded him of Professor Snape? He didn't think he was, but he could be wrong. It bothered him. "For a few minutes back there, you reminded me of... of our last Head of House."

Perseus exhaled. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He wasn't sure. "It raises questions." Difficult questions, ones Draco might not want to answer. Damned Potter. He always had to make things difficult, not that he couldn't admit that he might have brought some of it on himself.

"Questions?" He slid an arm around Draco, loose, nothing too, well. It was obvious but nothing Draco supposed he could get accused for, either. "We'll talk about it later when your eyes don't hurt."

And his nose. And pretty much everything ever. "Yeah, okay." Because they were swelling, felt gritty and horrible.

"Anyway, there's no point in talking when you're hurting. Plotting's a much more useful thing." Madam Pomfrey was coming back, and Perseus sat up a little.

"Here we are. Open up, Mr. Malfoy." Just what he didn't want to do, not in the least. Still, he didn't want to be black-eyed and in pain for any longer than necessary, either, so he opened his mouth and she shoved in a spoonful of something that tasted spectacularly nasty. He nearly gagged on it, and then she shoved in another and that was even worse.

"Hmn. Tincture of Wasp?" Draco shuddered, and tried not to imagine that he was swallowing that because he'd never never liked insects. Not even in potions.

Eurgh.

"Yes, it works wonders on the swelling. Mr. Malfoy should be just fine by morning. You did an excellent job setting his nose."

Fantastic. Perfect. He still needed a mirror.

"Thanks. C'mon, Draco. Let's go back to the dorm, and then I'll get you something for supper later." And Perseus would. He was very good about doing things Draco wanted except getting him a mirror. He probably didn't want him to see his eyes, never mind his nose.

"And you can use ice to help reduce the swelling a bit further if you need," Madame Pomfrey advised.

Fantastic. Nasty tasting tincture and frigging ice. "Let's go," Draco whined. There were footsteps coming, and he was sure he heard Pansy. "I don't want anyone to see me like this!"

Vanity couldn't be helped. It was probably bred into Malfoy bones. He wasn't entirely certain, but it seemed highly likely. He was sure it had come from his father's side. His mother was much more interested in grace and dignity above all else, and that wouldn't have meant making a run for it and hiding, except yes, he was going to try just that. Perseus stood up with him. "Right, then let's go."

Go, go, go, and they were getting closer, but there had to be some way to get past them, right?

"Oh, DRACO!"

Fuck.

"My eyes are black, my nose is killing me, I hope Potter is in detention forever and I'm going back to the dungeons!" It was a spill of words, but it didn't seem to do much good.

"Sorry, Draco," Crabbe told him, shrugging. He'd better be sorry, all of that ridiculous laughter.

At least they were getting past Pansy and the lot of them, which made him feel a little better. Sort of. "I'll see you at dinner," Perseus called over his shoulder, which was as good a _'fuck off and don't come back to the room'_ warning as Draco supposed could be given.

It had to be better than leaving a tie on the doorknob, anyway, and less likely to be totally misunderstood. Besides, his head hurt so much that it wouldn't make a bit of difference. They wouldn't be interrupting anything other than pissing him off.

At least it was a quiet walk back to the dorm, and Perseus didn't ask him any funny questions. He just. Was, supportive and oh god. It made him nervous, made him think about that whole stupid question of the professor and he didn't want that. He didn't want Perseus to be about a stupid crush, he wanted... he wasn't sure. Wanted him to be something else.

Maybe that was all it took -- wanting -- because he did like him, enjoyed his company, enjoyed the sex quite a bit, but that was a side issue. It was interesting to have someone that he wasn't ordering around, but who still wanted to help him. "I'm fairly sure they won't be able to write off that flagrant offense."

"Ha. It's _Potter_ ," Draco spat. "And they'll call that song provocation enough." And okay, it probably was. Draco would have tried to punch Potter in the face if he got smart about his mum, but still. Even if they hadn't sung the stupid song, it wouldn't have mattered. They'd all forgive Potter pretty much anything.

"Well, there's verbal provocation and then there's just pummeling someone. He's been a poor sport for long enough. It isn't like they don't say horrible things." He said the password for them at the wall, and they walked through it. "They just don't set their insults to a nice jaunty tune."

"They aren't creative enough." Not that he always was, either, but he was a great deal better than Potter when it came to these things. "My head is killing me."

"I know. Just rest. The swelling will go down soon." Perseus waltzed him through the commons, bland as anything, not even looking at the other students in the commons. He might hang out there later, leave Draco to rest in quiet and dark and his head was really throbbing.

His pride, if possible, hurt worse.

The trip deeper into the dungeons didn't take that long, and Perseus was pretty nice to him. It was better than Crabbe and Goyle by a lot, particularly when he curled up next to Draco on the bed.

"Thanks." He did appreciate it.

"I worry sometimes that something mundane like that will kill you, rather than the more grand, dramatic end befitting a Malfoy. Death by paving brick or something." He pressed his mouth against the back of Draco's neck, voice quiet. "Gust of wind knocks your broom into glass greenhouse. It's stupid, but there it is. I nearly concussed myself trying to get out of the stands fast enough."

That. That right there, that was perfect. That was the reason he adored Perseus, that he was having so much fun, enjoying himself immensely. It wasn't at all that he reminded him of Professor Snape except for just at that moment, when he was so concerned, it was just... that was all. "Yeah," Draco said quietly. "I'm... I'd feel that way, too. If you were...."

"I promise not to end up dead because Potter has a mean right hook and I've got a glass jaw." Perseus shifted a little, comfortable enough that Draco suspected he could doze for a bit, ease off in time to the throbbing of his skull. "Tutoring him tomorrow is a bugger."

"Make him suffer," Draco offered, closing his eyes. "Or maybe he’ll be in detention for eternity and I shan't have to share your time with him anymore."

"Mmm. Rest for now." Rest and relax and pretend that there was nothing going on at Hogwarts beyond Slytherin Commons, that there weren't decrees and an increasing loss of travel and freedom of movement, that the Gryffindors weren't up to shit.

That they weren't _causing_ half of the bloody decrees and making everybody else miserable, for that matter.

His head hurt, his nose hurt, his bloody eyes hurt. But Perseus was with him, and he'd straightened his nose even if he wouldn't let him see a mirror. Might as well try sleeping some of it off as best he could.

* * *

  
Perseus had done his utmost not to draw attention to himself in class or in the hallways, because Umbridge's reign of terror had become... something else. And she knew there was something going on under her nose, so all of the prefects were roaming the halls on a rotation to help her sniff it out. It left him at a bit of a loss, because between that and Quidditch, he was starting to see Draco only when he was asleep or furiously scrawling something with a Quill. Perseus had to be respectful of that, because it was still Draco's first time learning all of those subjects.

It left him a little bored.

Having time to think wasn't altogether pleasant -- he mostly had too much time to think about what had happened, what had brought him to this point, and he disliked that intensely. In order to combat it, he'd taken up selling mildly immoral potions to Hufflepuffs.

It was a very lucrative business.

He was glad he'd hidden quite how lucrative it was, otherwise his funds would've been confiscated when he was hauled up to be spoken to about breaking decree number who gave a rat's arse.

"Hem hem."

That little cough was detestable. The woman was equally abhorrent, and the fact that she terrified him was probably written all over his face.

"It has come to my attention, young man, that you are selling love potions from a little niche in the dungeon. I shall pause to give you the opportunity to reply."

He'd stood firm before Voldemort... until he'd unraveled his deception and given him the most agonizing death Severus could consider, and he had frighteningly sharp memories of her from those last days. "Y-yes, ma'am. I was just seeing what I could brew."

"Well. While I certainly find your enterprising spirit noteworthy, young man, I do have to say that you have broken a number of very important rules." Such a prim, proper, pink bitch. "I am sure you didn't mean to so flagrantly disobey. We wouldn't want to think you were Mr. Potter, now would we?" She giggled, as if that was funny.

"No, ma'am." He still frowned, trying simply not to react. He'd spent enough time giving Potter lessons in closing off his mind, whether they had taken or not, that reaching for calm was easy. Relatively. Even if it was feigned.

"Well, then. I suppose we should start with detention."

He'd already heard about her idea of detention. Possibly he should have thought more seriously about that before indulging himself in his attempt at free enterprise. Still. The money would be useful, and he could certainly say he'd been through worse. Even if blood quills were a sort of madness that he really did expect from her ilk. "Yes, ma'am."

Better not to say anything else, all around. "Now. I would like for you to write... oh. Perhaps _I shall not sell illicit potions on Hogwarts grounds_. That seems fair, don't you think?"

Not bloody likely.

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave that strange hiccoughing giggle again and moved to her desk, watching him with a basilisk stare. "Now. Please begin."

He knew what was going to happen before he started to write, but he still wrote, small sharp tiny letters that came naturally to him. The first few didn't hurt so much as stung, but after that the impression of his words on the back of his hand started to turn to murderously painful.

For the next forty-five minutes, he wrote and bled and hated her so completely it was nearly impossible to hide. Locking it away was intensely difficult, box in a box in a box, all with complicated little locking mechanisms of thought behind it to hold it still until she finally decided he had bled enough and let him go.

He tried not to let it show on his face, tried not to crack because he knew she was probably going to masturbate herself to it later, and instead focused on walking out the door and down the hallway.

Oh, how he hated her. Hated, hated, hated, and he was a thundercloud of negative anger by the time he made his way to the Slytherin commons, scowling and furious. Pansy Parkinson squeaked when he walked in, her eyes going wide at the look of him. "Oh. Oh. I'll..." And then she scuttled off, the twit.

 _I'll_. Whatever that was supposed to mean. She'd go run and hide, and he'd just had his hand scrawled over by a madwoman with no sense of what was appropriate and what wasn't. A madwoman who'd killed him, and it made him angry and sick and scared at the same time no matter how much he was blocking his mind away carefully.

It was better just to storm up to their dorm room, tuck himself into bed, and try not to plan her infinitely enjoyable death so clearly that she'd catch on to it later.

He did that, untying his tie as he walked, even if his fingers were shaking with rage and the back of his hand was one knotted cramped bleeding wreck. It was supposed to fade, it was just supposed to be magical.

Perseus knew what real blood was, unlike the students who were willing to believe that tripe. He knew its smell and its taste and its look, and when he got to their room, the first thing he did was to grab the nearest flask to hand and fling it violently against the wall. Hormones, for once, had very damned little to do with it. It was a purely adult fury channeled through every inch of him, and it was nearly overwhelming. So close to too much, and he thought of flinging another one, just to hear it shatter.

There was nowhere for it to go and nothing for him to do but to rage in an empty dorm room, and no amount of throwing things was enough, no amount of damage to the room would be quite enough to let it all loose the way it needed to be, because she'd helped _murder_ him and now she sat there smug and pleased and happy as a fucking lark.

He would do anything, absolutely anything, to see her as he'd been, bleeding and screaming and on fire, and --

The door opened, and Draco stepped inside, Pansy standing just on the other side. There were others there, too, now, Pucey and Bulstrode and one of the Greengrass brats, all staring in and curious until Draco shut the door in their faces. "Well. That's certainly one way to deal with frustration."

And what did he say to Draco? He didn't even think he could talk, he was shaking so hard while he shook out his aching hand. "Mmhm."

What his expectations were, he wasn't sure precisely. Draco and Drama were fairly synonymous, and he was in no mood whatsoever for dealing with it. It was surprising when he stepped forward and took Perseus's hand in his own, turning it over and looking at both sides. His cheeks crested hot pink, and his jaw clenched, but he said nothing for a long moment. His head was down, blond hair spilling forward, and he finally said, "I have something that will help."

"Thank you." He swallowed, and finally sat down on the edge of his bed. Later, he'd clean up the spilled mess that was decorating the wall, even if it looked like it was something he could sell to Muggles as modern art.

Draco was digging in his trunk, carefully not looking at him. "I'll owl my father..."

"No!" No, not ever, he didn't want Lucius involved. Lucius had watched him die.

Sharp grey eyes sliced his way. "Then what use is it to have a father on the board if I cannot even assist you?" Not help, no. But... assist.

Perseus's mouth went flat, tight, and he didn't quite look at Draco. "Fine. I'd rather not... get people involved. Clearly the headmaster doesn't care. None of the professors stop her."

The frustrated huff of breath Draco gave was a reminder of so many things. "Since she nearly gave the idiot teaching Divinations the sack, I suppose most of them prefer not to lose their jobs." He turned away from his trunk, a jar in his hand, and moved to herd Perseus towards his bed. "Sit."

"Their job is to protect their students." Perseus sat, not quite meeting Draco's eyes because, well. It wasn't as if he was at all ashamed of what he'd done.

"Yes. Yes, but they can't even seem to protect Potter." Draco sneered the name and then shook his head sharply. "Slughorn is incapable of protecting us, and there is no other professor so inclined." His jaw was clenched. "Nor will there be now. This is nothing new. None of them are interested in doing anything more than...." He huffed an irritated breath, his fingers light on Perseus's hand as he smoothed the ointment onto the scratched bloody words. "Professor Snape was the only one who gave a damn, and he's gone."

"I'm sorry." He was. He was sorry he wasn't there to stop it, more than anything. It was an odd thing to wish he wasn't dead because of.

When Draco looked up, he was clearly tired -- faint lavender smudges under his eyes, mouth tilted downward. "I'm sorry, too, but we make do with what we have. And what I have is you, so it's... not a bad thing, in the end. Only we will have to get better at protecting ourselves." He made a little sound of amusement. "And possibly I should stop baiting Potter, although getting him banned from Quidditch for life certainly hasn't made me unhappy."

"Well, and he's responding crap-all to tutoring," Perseus sighed. "Have you ever heard of Occlumency?"

That seemed to catch Draco's attention. "Of course I have. I thought you were teaching him remedial potions." His fingers had stopped rubbing the bloody scratches and were instead gently stroking Perseus's wrist, just over the beat of his pulse.

"Yes, well. The Headmaster's a bit of a bastard, though not a molesting bastard, and told me what to say if someone asked. But. He's a thick headed idiot, and I was wondering if I could try teaching you. If you don't already know it." His mouth twitched between a miserable frown and something more hopeful. "It's the only thing that kept me from lunging over the desk and killing her with her own damned quill."

Draco's teeth caught his lower lip, and that spark of wicked pleasure at the idea of learning something he clearly recognized as forbidden at least made him feel a little better. Maybe not a lot, but some. "So you know it. How interesting you are, Perseus Averis."

"I think if I hadn't learned it, given what I did before school, that I'd not have a mind at all. It comes very... easily." He leaned in, stole Draco's lips and brushed against those lightly biting teeth. It had been lonely without him, which was perhaps a strange thing, considering his previous existence. This one wasn't going to be like that. He'd make sure of it.

His mouth was quirked wryly when they pulled apart. "So many things do, considering your lack of previous education. It makes me curious." He never asked, though.

Perseus was glad he never asked. "I'd bet it does. Let me teach you this, though. It could come in useful for you." And it would give him something else to think about that wouldn't get him in trouble.

"All right." As if Draco knew what he meant, and maybe he did. He was a Slytherin, so chances were excellent that his mind wouldn't be scattered like Potter's. It would be more organized, neatly put together, and it would fold just so into what Perseus had to teach him. "We'll fit it in somehow."

"Well, it might give me an excuse to see a little more of you, as well." He lifted his right hand to touch at the edge of Draco's hair.

He ducked his head for a moment and then glanced upwards, gaze catching and sparking. "I've likely been a jealous prat since you've been tutoring Potter."

"A tiny, fractional bit. And it's been no walk in the park for me, given his attitude. One would think he wanted wizards traipsing through his mind at will." Close, close and comfortable, enough to make him want more than just sitting on the edge of the bed together when Draco probably had rounds to get off to.

Bloody prefects.

"Pansy said she would take rounds tonight," Draco offered, as if he could read the thought. Perhaps he could, or perhaps he only recognized the expression on Perseus's face. "And rumor has it Crabbe and Goyle have decided to sleep in the commons after the sight of your face earlier."

He hadn't felt quite that intimidating, but now that he'd ratcheted back, calmed down, it was possible that it had been so. "What a well-timed coincidence? I think my day might be back on an uptick."

"Apparently, the better part of Slytherin house thought that perhaps you were going to do something wickedly evil in your fury." Draco leaned into him, shoulder pressed close against his arm. "So tell me more about Occlumency."

"It's not actually a spell, so I'm curious why it's not allowed to be taught, though it is bound up in magical power..." He relaxed a little, still flexing his fingers. The back of his hand wasn't fading yet, but it had stopped hurting. Draco was still lightly clasping his wrist as he talked, listening intently. He also looked a little like he might fall asleep there, which made him wonder what he might have been up to aside from studying and prefect duties.

"Hmm," Draco offered, and pushed himself off of the bed. "We should get comfortable, and then you can tell me."

Perseus shifted, started to finish the horrible job he'd done taking his tie off. "You look exhausted."

"You look less angry." It wasn't so much meant to turn away the question. "And I've been busy." O.W.L.s were coming up, and Lucius had been assiduous in sending fairly regular letters. "But we can talk a while, and hopefully I won't fall asleep too soon."

"If you do, I think it's all right." After all, all he could do was alleviate some of Draco's pressures, the only way he could, and... And it felt good to do it. It felt good for Draco to take his hand and talk him down and be there. To be there with him.

He leaned in, all blond hair and pale skin, soft mouth and recognizable scent -- dust and a hint of sweat and some sort of mint. His nose brushed the line of Perseus's chin and then their lips were together, quick and fleeting. "Good to know I'm forgiven. And also that you're going to teach me what you're teaching Potter." Which seemed somehow to make up for something. Who knew what.

"And the best part is you'll actually learn it instead of violently not listening." Perseus started to shrug out of his robes, his shirt.

Rest had never seemed quite so exciting.

* * *

  
His father was in Azkaban.

His father.

Was in Azkaban.

It was all impossible, and wrong, and a complete refutation of how he had thought his year was going. Yes, he'd certainly known the Dark Lord was back -- after all, Professor Snape's death had been a fairly sharp and vicious indicator of that. It had left Draco in a position of uncertainty as to how he felt about the Dark Lord's plans, but now...

Now.

Now his father was in Azkaban. Now there was no question what he was going to be doing because his father had been a supporter of the Dark Lord and now. Now everyone knew he was back. Now everyone would be looking at his mother, his aunt. Who'd been there and not caught.

He had no choice. Even if he hated the professor's death, even if he wished things were different, the weren't. He would have to figure out some way to function, to protect his mother and himself, and Draco felt so very lost without his father. He didn't know what to do or where to turn.

The one thing he did know was horrifyingly clear: it was all Harry Potter's fault.

It was all Harry Potter's fault, and he'd spent his train ride back to King's Cross tense and worried and watching Perseus peer at him, wearing his own tense expression. Draco was going back to... he didn't know what. And Perseus was going back to the same.

Maybe he should have been more receptive to things, but after his father went... well. He hadn't been in the mood for much of anything. He was pretty sure he'd scraped through all of his O.W.L.s, although Charms would probably bite him. His fath... Well, in any case, it could have been worse, he supposed.

The train was coming into King's Cross finally, and he let out a worried heave of breath, licking his lips. Vincent and Gregory had given up on him entirely and wandered off a while back when the trolley came 'round, but Perseus was still sitting there.

"Remember what we worked on." Blocking his mind, because he was probably sliding into a den of Death Eaters. Perseus had his bottomless bag tucked between his legs, beneath the seat, and his fingers were knotting in the straps. "Do you see your mother out there?"

"Not yet." No, and he was all nerves. What would home be like with just him and his mother? Would his aunt be there? She'd been in Azkaban a long time, and his mother never spoke of her. For that matter, neither did his father, so that implied a great deal of nothing good at all.

Draco gave a sigh and then shook his head. "Will you be all right?"

He looked out the window, and shrugged his shoulders tightly. "Don't worry about me. I'll manage until next year."

Yeah. Perseus had managed four years before ending up at Hogwarts, anyway, and it was weird to realize that he had made friends with some Alley brat. Then again, Perseus had been pretty determined and also sort of reckless. Draco couldn't have the things he had told those wretched Gryffindors making things difficult for Slytherin house, and it had all resulted in... well. All right, more than friends, and he squirmed a little at the thought. "Don't forget to owl. And maybe I'll come to visit." Or something. Or anything, actually, because for all he knew he'd be turned to ash as soon as he walked in the door or something completely insane.

His family had failed, and been caught and he was so scared. "If you want to run away from home, just look for me around Knockturn." And he wasn't going to think about Perseus maybe whoring over the summer. He was going to focus on Perseus probably making and selling illegal potions, which was at least _Slytherin_.

The Hogwarts Express slowed, and Draco realized that he was grinding his teeth. He wanted to lean over and steal a kiss, because it seemed like he deserved that much before he went home and probably died, and okay. That was melodramatic, except maybe it wasn't, and he would just about kill something if it got him some sort of calming potion. "Right."

"I mean it seriously. I know... things aren't going to be good for you." Perseus's mouth compressed, and he did it, he leaned across the way, getting up from his seat to kiss Draco. It stopped his teeth from grinding, anyway, and he leaned in, letting it happen, eyes closing as he let loose a sigh. It felt good, and he was going to miss this terribly later.

When they parted, he glanced at the window again, and then back to Perseus. "My mother will be there. I'm sure I'll be fine. You shouldn't worry."

"Shouldn't and will are two separate things." He lingered a little, and sat down beside Draco. "And maybe your father will escape soon."

He leaned into Perseus for just a few more minutes. Just a little longer. "Maybe." If he did, what would they do? Whatever it was, he would figure it all out. Somehow. Or maybe his mother would have some answers, and he would be so grateful if that were true.

If he just went home and was miserable without his father and it was home.

That would almost be all right.

The train came to a halt, and they lingered there, quiet, tense, not quite moving yet. Draco moved when he saw a few other children running past in glee, because they were going home to safety.

He hoped Potter suffered all summer long, but he doubted even the wretched Muggles he supposedly lived with could be adequately wicked to begin making him miserable enough to suit him.

They both began pulling together their things, and he nodded to Perseus. "I'll see you soon. I promise."

"After the summer. Stay well, Draco." He shouldered his bag, still lingering a little. That was fine. Draco wasn't in a mood to rush off in glee.

They walked out into the crowd together, slipping off of the train together. There were families coming together, and it made him want to yell. Scream, even, and then he caught sight of his mother and drew in a sharp, heavy breath. "I'll see you soon." A promise. He meant it, too, even though he didn't always. Things were different with Perseus.

He still didn't understand why. Maybe one day Perseus would give him a hint.

"Right." No good bye, no good luck, because that would've been too trite. And then Perseus was gone, and his mother was clutching him tight about the shoulders.

"Draco, oh, look how you've grown..."

Grown, yes, although it seemed like he had just seen her. "Hello, Mother." He didn't know how to ask any of the things that he wanted. Instead, he gave a reserved slip of his arm around her and tried very hard to be an adult about it. "You're beautiful, as always." She was, too. He'd always thought so, but perhaps he might be a little biased. Just a bit.

"My son." Not boy, no, because he was the man of the house, now. "Come, let's go. Do you have all of your bags?"

Both of them were trying to smile, but it was all so strained. He glanced over his shoulder to look for Perseus and saw him several feet away. "Yes, Mother. There's just my trunk left."

"Good. Fetch it and we'll go. We have... guests at the manor this summer." Oh god.

Oh god, and all he could think about was Severus, and _guests_ , and his aunt Bellatrix and his father in prison, and it was probably all showing in his eyes.

He had to be a man about it. Not that he particularly wanted to be; he would much rather flail and pitch a complete fit so that he would feel better, only he had to be better than that now. "How have you been?"

Her mouth compressed, and that was no good answer. "I miss your father."

Of course she did. So did he, and he understood what that meant. Instead of pursuing it further, he went to fetch his trunk as it went on one of the last trolleys. His mother was right behind him, and it didn't surprise Draco when she slipped her hand into his and told him to hold on tightly.

He felt the tug deep in his stomach that told him they were porting, and he wasn't at all surprised that they spilled out into the garden.

Everything looked the same. It looked the same, the flowers were in bloom, he could turn and see the shape of their home looking just as it should, but something was off. It didn't matter that the peacocks were still there, albino feathers sweeping out behind them, that the garden was still spelled to lessen the amount of dust and pollen in it. The very air seemed thick, or maybe it was just his imagination.

Perhaps it was only his already overwhelming sense of dread. "Mother...?"

"I tried very hard to keep you separate of your father's politics," she said, looking at the manor and not him. "And we are not... not in favour at the moment. The Dark Lord has selected Malfoy Manor as his residence, as restitution for the failure at the Ministry."

So it was just as bad as he had feared, then. It took his breath to imagine it -- home, their home, turned into something else. Draco had always accepted what his father told him about the Dark Lord, about the things that he stood for, that he believed. Just at this particular moment, he found himself regretting it intensely. "What should I do?"

"Stay out of the way. Keep to your rooms, the garden, outside, as much as possible. I... I'll do what I can. You're not an adult. You should be grown before you face these kinds of choices, _this_."

 _This_ , whatever it was. "And you?" Because he loved his mother desperately, and the sick fear that was in him, thick and viscous, would have to be tamped down, shoved in thought boxes inside of other thought boxes until they weren't even anything real.

"I'll do what Malfoys and Blacks have always done, dear. Whatever it takes to survive. Now, come. I shall have to introduce you to His Lordship, and then I expect you to resume your reading for the next year elsewhere."

"Yes, Mother." It seemed the only thing he could possibly say, because what else was there? Nothing except to agree and to do exactly the same thing.

She took his hand again and they left behind his trunks and other belongings. The only thing he took with him was his wand, tucked into his right sleeve where it nestled safely.

He held his head high as they passed into the side door that led in from the gardens, expression wary, but he supposed that was acceptable. No one needed to know what he was thinking, and -- ah. Ah.

Perseus's lessons would be useful, then.

His mother was striding through the halls with a determined pace. Nothing seemed wrong, physically. Everything was still intact, but he wondered.

Worried.

The firm sound of heels striking the marble floor caught his attention and his head jerked upwards to see a woman coming down the wide staircase. Her hair was a tangled mess of black curls and white streaks, and she looked... well. Quite frankly, completely mad. "Cissy! How delightful. You've brought home darling Draco." She said that, but he was utterly certain that was not in fact at all what she meant. "Our lord will be so delighted to meet him."

"I was bringing him in for introductions. If now is a good time." His mother at least seemed firm, almost curt when she said that. "You would know better than I."

Draco could feel the vague spidery touch of a mind gently skittering across his own, and he allowed it, keeping the easier thoughts forwards. Boxes in boxes on shelves behind open books, all neatly labeled and categorized and freely available. It had made sense to him, the explanations, and he had been good at it. "Aunt Bellatrix, I presume."

She tottered further down the stairs and strolled up to him, staring him in the eyes. "Yes, dear boy, and I remember when you were nothing more than a squalling unweaned brat. I must say, you have grown up quite nicely."

Great Dallben.

He didn't expect her to eye him with covetousness, or for her to laugh at his reaction. "Bella." His mother's voice was chiding behind him. "I'm going to introduce him to Our Lord and then send him off to his studies. Draco has revising to do if he's going to make up for his Charms grade."

His mother seemed to expect that sort of behavior from her sister. It made him wonder what she had been like before, and he found it completely appalling simultaneously.

Bellatrix laughed, and she sounded completely cracked as she reached out to run a sharp nail along the line of his jaw. "Our dear lord always has liked the pretty ones."

"Please don't say such things." His mother's expression tensed as she walked past him. "Let's go..."

Draco's hand was still held in hers, hot and damp, and there was a nausea rising in him, a worry at Bellatrix's words that made him lick his lips even as she pulled him along, heading for the Green Diamond Room. "Mother..." He spoke tentatively, and obviously he should be firmer. He'd have to be. "It's fine." Even if it wasn't.

"It is never fine." She fell silent, though, and Bellatrix darted forward, pulling open the doors to the Green Diamond Room.

"My lord! My lord, Narcissa has brought you a treat."

Draco didn't want to be a treat. Draco wanted to be in his room, trying to make up for his Charms scores. Instead of withdrawing and heading straight there, he stiffened his spine and moved forward. His mother moved with him, and he could feel the worry in her just from the touch of her skin. "My lord."

Bellatrix moved in steadily, weaving and dancing her way towards the honestly terrifying Dark Wizard who had taken up residence in their parlor. "Pretty, pretty Draco," she laughed, and smiled in a way that made him something like terrified.

He stood up, and Draco tried not to look, kept his head down and his eyes canted just so. The man smelled like dry sand as he stepped in closer to Draco, making a faint snaky sound. "Dear little wayward Malfoy. Little Dragon."

The sound of it made him tremble, just a bit. Perhaps even a lot, and he licked his lips, still not looking up until fingers caught the point of his chin and brought his face upwards.

Terrifying had been quite the understatement of his short life, clearly. No nose, a narrow face, tilted eyes. Nothing human, it was like a snakeskin stretched out over a human face in a mask, a parody of what it should've been.

And then he tsked. "You lack your father's steady constitution, Draco Malfoy, but I think you are made of sterner stuff than your mother would have me believe. Tell me, will you serve me?"

Oh god.

Oh Merlin.

Oh. The word wouldn't come to his lips, not the one he wanted. The one he didn't stuck for a moment, dry on his tongue, his mother's nails digging into his arm. "Yes, my lord."

Yes. Yes he would. He exhaled, and watched the Dark Lord smile. "I would have you in my quarters after supper. Go, tend to your studies. We will discuss your future then."

Bellatrix laughed, odd and cracked and _wrong_ , and his mother's hand was hurting it was so tight. He knew there was only one answer if he wanted to keep living and he badly wanted to live.

"Yes, my lord."

He smiled, fingers curling over the sides of Draco's jaw for a moment and then he stepped backwards. "I have other business to tend to, now, if you would."

Draco nodded and pulled back. His mother didn't let loose and so he tugged her with him, towed her along until they were once again in the foyer, staring at the balustrade. Her face was unnaturally pale, and she had a look in her eyes that made him want to take her and run back into the garden, abandon home altogether. He could hide in Knockturn with Perseus, and it wasn't honor, no, but it would be something. It wouldn't leave him unsure and scared for them both.

"I'm so sorry. If there were any other options..."

"Mother." He turned to her, his head tucked down just a bit. "It's... We will do what is necessary. I'll be..." Not fine. Not even remotely fine. "I'll be in my rooms."

"I'll try to distract him." That was almost a more horrifying thought, and he wasn't. He wasn't going to think about it, about any of it. "Go, hurry, before he changes his mind."

Changed his mind to what, Draco didn't know. He didn't ask. Instead, he leaned in, and he pressed his cheek against hers, and then he pulled away to climb the marble stairs, cold and afraid and desperately wishing that he knew what else -- anything else -- to do.

* * *

  
There were places on Knockturn Alley where one could rent a room with few questions asked and a lot of suggestive eyebrows raised. There were flaws in Wizarding society, cracks people could slip through and stay hidden inside. That part of the Alley was a crack like that, though he suspected the entire Alley was, some days. It was walking distance to acceptable society, close enough to taste it.

Not that he was going to bother with acceptable society at all. What was the point, after all? Acceptable society wasn't going to be interested in his wares, no matter which sort he decided to sell. Even acceptable people would sneak, warily, over to his part of the shoppes, and look to see what he had for sale. He was determined not to whore himself unless it was a complete necessity and he wasn't going to make his rent.

He'd need to remember to keep the appropriate treatment potions on hand. All things considered, he was going to be clean and well when he returned to Hogwarts because he hoped Draco would still be interested in their arrangement.

Things had sort of fallen to the wayside in recent weeks, but they had been rather disastrous. A group of fourth and fifth years had brought about the revelation that the Dark Lord had returned, and had gotten Lucius Malfoy sent off to Azkaban. In all honesty, he would probably have said at some point in his life that it could not have happened to a more deserving person. Watching Draco afterwards, though...

Well.

Mostly he wished some other smug blond git had been Draco's father. Then he could've gotten the dual satisfaction of Lucius going to Azkaban and of not having Draco left without a very important rudder in his life.

It left Perseus at an odd end, never mind the rest of the Slytherin fifth years. Crabbe and Goyle in particular had seemed to drift, looking at one another helplessly now and then because Draco had withdrawn and they didn't quite seem to know what to do with themselves without him there to tell them what came next. And then there was Parkinson. He had quite wanted to curse the twit just to get her to stop _touching_.

Now he was at a worse odd end than just wanting to write 'mine' in ink all over Draco's forehead. He looked around the dank room he was going to be occupying, and laid out a few magical perimeters to settle his things into, to help prevent robbery, to make it easier to pack.

Just in case.

Things standing as they currently did, the rest of the Wizarding world was very likely setting charms and wards to make it easier to pack because it might become a necessity. He had a feeling that he might find it helpful later on. There was more than a hint of dread, and also the vague stale whiff of unpleasant possibilities.

That or perhaps the neighboring witch was even worse at cooking than she had first appeared.

The thing that struck him must was that half the shops were abandoned, their owners fled or gone. It was familiar, like the disappearances of before. Witches and wizards either kidnapped to serve the Dark Lord, or ransomed, or simply warned to leave town or else.

Secure in the knowledge that his rented room was warded at least as decently as he could manage without a wand, he stepped outside to explore a little and get brewing supplies.

Aside from the general lack of occupants, Knockturn Alley was much as it often was; dirty and cast in shadows, filled with people exactly like Perseus Averis -- in short, whores and peddlers of less than savory sorts of things. He fit right in, and no one tried molesting him as he made his way to Desplats Potions and Procurements. The potions were horrible, but the procurements were quality. He pulled the door open slightly, and slipped into the comfortable dankness. It was a place with which he was long familiar. The cubbies were wooden and deep, and filled with some of the most interesting things, all of which could be had for a price. Quite a large sum, on occasion, particularly the rarer items, most of which he regrettably could not afford. Yet. The time would come, but for now he would make do.

The little man behind the counter gave a desultory wave of his hand. "Welcome to Desplats."

"I need to purchase supplies." He tried to give a charming smile rather than the grim flat expression that he wanted to give a man like that. It got him a once-over that would have made Draco blush, and then he got up and leaned on the counter.

"Gotta list?"

He pulled a small scroll out of his robe pocket, and handed it over to the man, still smiling with as much ease as he could manage. "Of course."

Of course, and he was still _looking_ at him, that filthy pervert, and Perseus knew that no matter how desperate he became, he wouldn't fuck the fellow if he laid down on the floor gagging for it. He glanced over the list steadily and nodded. "Got most of it. This last bit's gonna be expensive, though."

"How expensive?" He knew that tail of rabid bat wasn't actually that expensive. It was an annoying put on to have to deal with and one he was supposed to pretend not to notice.

The noise of air being sucked noisily through teeth was annoying. "Reckon it'll run you a ten Galleons each." Ha! As if. That was a complete rip-off because they weren't worth more than fifty knuts apiece.

He snorted. "Fifty knuts per. If I had a net and the urge I could gather a bucket of them myself."

A sneer was his answer. "Then why don't you?"

"I'll take the rest and pass on them, then." He lifted an eyebrow at the man, and while it wasn't intimidating it was disdainful.

Perseus might very well do just that.

The bell on the door jangled, a magical sort of chime. "Ernst, I need... Oh. Well. You have a customer." Yes, a customer, and he turned to look over his shoulder, surprised to see a pretty young witch who clearly didn't belong in Knockturn Alley, much less in Desplats.

He gave her a vague sort of smile. "Sorry. I gave him a pretty long pull list to work through."

Her eyes didn't match her appearance in the least. They were perfectly and completely mad in comparison to the blond ringlets and the ridiculous schoolgirl dress with its little bow. "Oh, I'm sure it won't be any trouble. Ernst always has what I need, don't you, Ernst?"

"Y-yes, miss..." Ernst clearly thought better than to address her as herself. "Of, of course I do."

Interesting. Perseus leaned against the counter, looking at her. "By all means, then, please. Go ahead. I can wait."

She smiled and it was very much like her eyes -- all wrong. "My list, Ernst." He took it with care and scrambled back behind the counter and into the back room.

"Only a moment, miss! Not very long!"

"That's interesting. I could hardly get him to do more than cite me overpriced items." Perseus stayed where he was, studying her in a bland way, when he felt her skitter over his mind. He didn't really even have to reach to put forward what he needed to, what was supposed to be there to match who he was.

So demure she pretended to be, and instead she was sneaky and nosy and clearly scary enough to send a Knockturn clerk jumping to do her bidding. "If you like, I would be delighted to make sure that he fulfills your request as well, pretty boy." There was something about the quirk of her mouth that said nothing pleasant whatsoever about that phrase. Pretty boy, as if there was something deeply amusing about it.

"He seems to think rabid bat tails are ten galleons apiece. I'd check your tab with him if I were you." He was going to play his part, the annoyed customer, the boy he was supposed to be.

"Don't worry, dear. He wouldn't dare." Her eyes ate him up from his toes to his nose, and then back down again. "I'll make sure you've been properly provided for as well if you like."

His smile tilted a little. "I'd appreciate that, miss...? I'm Perseus, by the way." And her eyes were bothering him, raking too hard, leaving him unsure if he should instead run from the room.

"You can call me Druella." Druella. That triggered something, but he didn't think about it, didn't think about anything except his list and what he would be doing this summer, and perhaps, just a bit, his Slytherin housemates.

He was very careful not to think of all of them in exactly the way he would normally like.

"Druella." It was another smiled reply. "You... Look, you don't look like you belong down here. Be careful."

Yes, the smile and the eyes, they didn't match her face. "How sweet of you." Yes, sweet, perhaps, but Ernst was coming back with a parcel, his face pale and sweaty. "Ernst, do take care of my friend Perseus, won't you?"

He stammered his answer, "Y-yes. Yes, of course." No pleasantries. He was genuinely afraid of her, and Perseus openly thought about the potions he was going to make and also chocolate frogs and that she was pretty.

"And perhaps we'll see one another again after this. I expect you have particular plans for your ingredients list." She laughed, a strange cracked noise that made him shiver. "Hopefully something interesting."

"Oh yes. I only brew interesting things." Love potions that were little more than control potions, undetectable poisons that acted quickly, paralytics.

Things that sold well and fast.

"Then perhaps you would like to offer me your contact information, in case I might have need of your... services."

Ernst was still scraping in the background, pulling together Perseus's items.

"Oh, well. Yes, I'm just around the corner, in a rented room over the Sniveling Giant. It's not really an address." And he thought of Hogwarts and his nice bed there and the safety of the place instead, shoring himself up in the face of an impressively probing onslaught.

'Druella' tilted her head, corkscrew curls bouncing. "Most excellent." She glanced behind him, lips compressing. "Ernst! Send the bill to the appropriate party."

"Yes, miss!" Yes, and he was back with Perseus's things as well.

And then she was gone, leaving Ernst to slouch a little where he stood, looking frightened and relieved. That look ended with the cruel twist of a smile that Perseus felt slide over his face, exquisitely familiar to him and practiced for a very long time in front of a mirror.

"Y-your things."

"So, I can assume that the rabid bat tails have once again returned to fifty knuts?" He was still going to pay the man, but it felt so very good to watch him be afraid. It got him a nod, quite reluctant and a little pissy, although he still glanced out to be sure that she was gone.

She.

 _Druella_.

There were strange strange things in Knockturn Alley, and it had apparently gotten stranger in recent days.

He was going to have to use that to the best of his own advantage.

* * *

  
Draco hadn't wanted to go downstairs for supper.

There were people coming in and out of the Manor, people his father would never have approved stepping foot inside of their home. It was difficult to maintain a neutral expression, and even more difficult to keep his fear behind his teeth when all he could think of was that request.

 _His_ quarters. After supper. What sort of future would need discussing?

When it could no longer be avoided, he put on decently proper robes, wasted time staring at his reflection and not finding much comfort in that, either. For the first time in memory, even his mirror had been silent, staring back at him without compliment or insult. Malfoy mirrors were never simply quiet; they always had something to say, no matter what it might be. That fact alone was so alarming that he turned away from it suddenly and left his room just to avoid it.

Once downstairs, he walked to the dining room and settled by his mother's side at the table, at least trying to sink into the background. It was a thousand times better not to be noticed, and he found that difficult. He was a Malfoy, a name synonymous with arrogance and disdainful haughtiness. He'd been accused of being horribly overdramatic, mostly when faced with the sight of his own blood.

Going unnoticed was something that seemed completely impossible.

"Draco. Come, sit here at my side. It is a shame your father isn't here. It is also a shame he failed to get the prophecy." The Dark Lord's voice was quiet, almost a monotone, his s-es dragging out slowly. It didn't help that Bellatrix was settling in at his other side.

He glanced at his mother uncertainly from the corner of his eyes. She was staring at her plate, but her fingers touched his and he felt an ampoule of who knew what caress over them. He kept it in his palm as he rose and moved to the Dark Lord's left side, shivering under his aunt's avaricious gaze. The chair slid out automatically, and Draco seated himself, paying close attention to the thin pattern of the bone china place setting before him. The scent of the Dark Lord was nearly overwhelming, and he tried desperately not to shudder, blanking his mind of everything but the delicate blue pattern that danced around the edge.

"Good. Very good." He didn't know why it was good, or why the Dark Lord smelled like dry leaves, bone, death without decay or rot. He just sat still while conversation ebbed and flowed around him, and the house elves served food.

It smelled delicious, but he toyed with a piece of bread instead, trying to listen. Most of the discourse was quietly spoken, words about the rise of Purebloods, various nasty comments about his father. He wanted to say something sharp to those but he was sitting beside the _Dark Lord_. Draco might have a flair for dramatics, but he wasn't entirely stupid. In the end, it was his aunt's conversation that caught his attention, and it made him... Well. Worried. Sick. He wasn't entirely sure which.

"...and he seemed to be quite charming, of course. Not as pretty as my dear nephew, little sharp nose aside, but adequate."

The Dark Lord gave a regal nod, smiling in a way that was so very disturbing. "Excellent. Now that the traitor is gone, we will need a new... assistant for potions."

"Tell me when you'd like him, then. I can soften him up first, make him want to come here. Boy almost seemed happy." Bellatrix's mouth curled, a pointed twist of delight.

He couldn't imagine anyone being happy to see his aunt. Ever. There was a complete sense of absolute insanity that sang from her eyes and made Draco shake just a bit as he poked at the food on his plate in a vague sort of way.

"Bellatrix." The Dark Lord seemed so pleased. "You do find the most delicious things for me."

Draco decided that he wasn't going to think about it at all, couldn't. Didn't dare. Instead, he kept looking at his plate, at the crystal goblet on the table, at anything at all so long as it wasn't at the Dark Lord.

He still almost squealed when he felt something heavy slither against his leg.

"Ahhh, Nagini." Nagini, and Draco might be horrible at Charms but he was quite good at magical languages, enough to realize that the _thing_ pressing against him near his feet was almost certainly a snake.

He wasn't going to react, but he was possible going to shiver a little when he felt something bump his knee, climb up his lap and over his thigh, and oh. Oh Merlin, oh Dallben, oh, he was going to die completely of an attack of the heart because that _thing_ , that _thing_ , it was horrific. Bellatrix was laughing, a wild cackle, and Draco thought that perhaps dying now would not be such a bad thing.

And the Dark Lord just smiled.

It slithered over his lap, undulating against his crotch as it passed over him and then, finally, agonizingly, off of him. If it had been an option, he would've stormed off, run away. It wasn't, but it was humiliating because everyone had to know from Bellatrix's wild cackle. "Draco. When you're done with dinner, please proceed to my quarters. I'll come up at my leisure."

The horror that filled him was less about the presence of the Dark Lord and a great deal more about the conceivable presence of the snake. The fact that he had no idea exactly where the Dark Lord was currently staying did him no favors, either, but he suspected that presenting himself in the Silver Chamber would likely be the correct path.

He was completely terrified, and knew if he took so much as a bite he would sick it up, and so Draco rose to leave. He bowed his head, and received a wave of dismissal. It took everything he had not to run when he left the room, but he walked, slowly. The moment he was out of the room, he looked at the ampoule his mother had handed him, trying to guess the concoction from the look of the liquid. It was ridiculously small and the colour was the faintest of icy blues. While color was normally no indicator for precisely what a potion did, he suspected that this one fell in line with the red-blue-green register that he remembered learning before he had barely begun at Hogwarts. Red for the heart, green for the body, blue for the mind, in all sorts of shades and variances. Professor Snape had told him that, and he had never forgotten it. Whatever it was, his mother clearly thought it was for the best and so he climbed the stairs with it in his hand, quickly moving away from his own bedroom with its wheeling dragons and armored knights and towards the Silver Chamber. Unlike the Green Diamond Room, the reason for the name was obvious from the second one set foot in the place. Even the bed was bound with strong silver vines that burst into diamond buds at the tops of the bedposts just as every stitch from the rug to the sheets to the draperies were in some form of silvery-grey or white.

It was almost bright in there, before he went about lighting the lamps. The fire was blazing in the fireplace, and he took a moment to tend that, too, before wondering what, exactly, he ought to do while he waited for the Dark Lord to come up to meet him.

He could half guess. Maybe. Mostly he didn't want to, so he settled down on the settee before the fire, the vague scent of dry-dust-death-decay wafting around him to prove that he had chosen appropriately. The ampoule was in his hand, and he thought that perhaps the time to imbibe had come, so he raised it to his lips and swallowed. It was ice on his tongue, numbness spreading down his throat and into his stomach, his heart, his limbs, but most of all his mind. Not entirely so, but almost as if it had separated out his body from his mind just a bit, setting them a half step off of center, away from normal.

His mother had never been brilliant at potions, she had said. That thought was all he had in particular, and he brought out his wand, whispering a word to transform it to back into sand and air before blowing it off of his fingers and into the fire. The Trace did not work properly on Malfoy land, and he had never been so grateful for it. So grateful to still have access to all that he was. He wondered what Perseus was doing out in Knockturn, and wished for possibly the sixth time that he could run away, but it wasn't as if anywhere would be far enough.

Not if it meant abandoning his mother.

He drifted, but snapped back a little when he heard the door open, heard it shut again with a quiet snick. "Draco Malfoy. Stand up, boy, and let me have a look at you."

His body responded before his mind caught up with it, knees pushing him up off of the settee despite their trembling. The Dark Lord swept further inside, dirty bare feet leaving prints on the white rug as he came. It was an odd thing to find quite so maddening, but there it was, clawing at Draco's mind because there was no need to have dirty feet or leave marks on the floor, particularly not a good rug like that.

"You look just like your father did when he was your age."

Perhaps. He had seen portraits, of course, of his father and his grandfather both. His father had always said that he took after his mother's side of the family, and that his grandmother Druella had possessed precisely the same angle to her jaw, the same sharp bow curve to her upper lip. Draco considered that perhaps his father had been mistaken. "Thank you, my lord."

He circled Draco, and Draco didn't move, just let him circle. "We will see if you're more effective a servant than your father was. I should have suspected, given his close associations to the traitor Severus, that he would only try and fail. He didn't believe hard enough."

Believe. Believe. The word seemed so strange to him suddenly as he watched the Dark Lord. His body evinced outward signs of the fear that seemed to be taking over the surface thoughts he had learned to keep. It struck the pages of his mind closed and into cluttered heaps, a nervous sweat prickling at the nape of his neck and along the curve of his lip. He could smell it, and he was sure that the Dark Lord could smell it, too, because he breathed in deeply through his mouth, those eyes fastening on him with pinpoints of red a low glimmer in each pupil.

"I would ask that you serve me, Draco. Not as your father did, but as Severus did, though you are no Potions master." He supposed Bellatrix had that picked out already, some Death Eater to be, or someone they were going to turn to their cause.

There was no answer that was proper to give in either direction. He wasn't a Potions master, might never become one despite quite enjoying the subject. He was terrified of serving as the professor had because things had ended very badly for Severus Snape. Draco swallowed hard, shivering in reaction, feeling a very real sort of terror that was horribly and completely apart from himself, or perhaps he from it. "A-as you wish. My lord."

He exhaled, smiling, and finally stepping back from Draco. "Delicious. Disrobe yourself." He gestured intently with one hand. Disrobe himself, yes, and he was glad for whatever his mother had slipped him, even if it did kill him. Perhaps particularly then because he would never be able to face Perseus without seeing this moment, realizing that his hands were rising to fumble free the ebony buttons of his coat one by one, shaking so hard that he could barely manage it.

The last button nearly defeated him and he pulled hard, sending it skittering across the floor and into the fireplace. Sharp fingernails reached out and skidded over the line of his jaw, making him hiss when he felt the catch of them on his skin and the vague scent of blood came then, his blood. His, and the Dark Lord was licking it off of his fingertips, and Draco didn't know if he could continue.

"You will." He heard it in his ears and he heard it in his mind in a way that left him suddenly very nearly hysterical. "You have beautiful skin, like a statue. I want to carve into you." He touched at Draco's stomach, the backs of his fingers lingering. "Trousers now."

A thin sound broke from his mouth, keening and horrified, and Draco observed it as if he hadn't made the noise at all. "M-m..." He didn't want that. Didn't want to be, he wanted, he wanted... he didn't know what he wanted. His fingers fumbled, hardly able to manage the clasp and button, the tab. He hadn't managed to push them down before the Dark Lord was back, caressing him again, his hand stroking at Draco's navel, down to the groove of his thigh.

Oh god.

Trousers and then pants were skimmed down off of him, the Dark Lord's nails leaving fine bloody lines in their wake, like tiny Niffler claw marks. Draco would've rather fancied a Niffler just then, and he'd never been fond of them. "Have you ever been _taken_ before?" It was an odd phrasing yet pointed, firm enough that he knew immediately what the implication was.

It made him wish desperately for Perseus, made him wish that he had not become so self-involved at the end of term. Made him wish that he was somewhere, anywhere, but here. The question was nearly enough to bring the two parts of him together in one blinding second of utter and complete terror, and then it passed. "Sir?" Better, he supposed, to answer in that manner than any other. His entire body seemed to want to curl in on itself, and when that touch wound around the softness of his genitals, Draco whimpered.

"Are you a virgin, Draco?" He asked it once more with a hint of a tone in his voice that implied he would not ask it again. "Ah. I see you've had a dalliance. It's always better if you enjoy this sort of thing. Has he taken you yet?"

He wanted to protest; he wanted to say that he was like Blaise, the kind of slut who had been passed around Slytherin house so many times that no one could keep count anymore, but everyone knew that lying to the Dark Lord was impossible. "No, sir." Choked out, but the truth. Oh, he wished....

"Perfect. Perfect. Perhaps we should get a potions master in here to harvest ingredients from you first." He gave a whispery breath, a wicked crazy laugh that made Draco's stomach twist so hard he could feel the rising bile.

That sounded horrible and gave him a wild sense of hope simultaneously. "As you wish, my lord." He wasn't stupid enough to believe he would be allowed to wait for that, not with the dry amusement exhibited by the snakelike wizard.

"Or perhaps I can just have someone snatched for ingredients instead. Please, stretch out on my bed." He bade it with a sweeping gesture of his hand while the other set of fingers continued idly stroking his balls.

Sick.

He was going to be sick, he knew it, his breath coming fast and frightened, and he still felt strangely outside of his own head, disjointedly tethered, but it wasn't going to be enough. Draco stepped away, letting loose a tiny sound as the Dark Lord let go of him so that he could walk to the bed.

As a child, he had been forbidden to enter the Silver Chamber, which meant that it had fascinated him and therefore he had snuck into it as often as possible. He thought that he would burn this bed one day, and all of the things in it from the virgin white sheets to the pale rug upon the floor. Maybe he would because he felt eyes on him as he took every step, heavier than Perseus's fingers had ever felt on his skin. "I think you will find you need to concentrate harder than that to keep me from seeing what you're thinking."

Better then not to think at all and so he climbed slowly onto the bed, every joint aching in fearful anticipation. The rosebuds gleamed above, diamond sparks in the firelight. If he could just think only of those....

Ice and cold, and the smell of decaying autumn leaves overtook him while the Dark Lord dropped his robe to the floor. "Much better." The smell made Draco want to rise, run, because he was afraid of knowing anything. What he looked like, if the smell was from something he didn't want to see, anything.

Everything.

The mattress shifted, the heavy feather tick turning him just a bit towards the Dark Lord as he sat upon the bed. His breath hiccoughed out in a horrifying sound his father might have slapped him for making. Then again, he wasn't sure his father would've slapped him if he'd been faced with the same sight. It wasn't at all what he was used to, quiet and laughter and ease in a dark room and sometimes chocolate because Perseus had a stupid sweet tooth, and that was fine, he needed to eat more. It wasn't lean skin that was flush with life, only grey, grey that shaded to brown but mostly grey and a dick that jutted out like a tower.

He shouldn't have looked. He shouldn't have, but now he had and he could never ever forget that sight. He jerked his gaze up to the roses at the top of the bed posts and tried desperately to shove that into a box at the back of his mind. He wouldn't think, wouldn't remain present.

He wouldn't. He couldn't seem to stop it, though.

"Come here, Draco Malfoy. Come here and serve your master." Serve, and he wondered what the Dark Lord wanted. For Draco to suck him off? Could he get away with so little? Lying back and staring at the roses wasn't going to be allowed, he knew it.

It took effort, blocking out his thoughts. Blank scrolls, he thought. Empty books. His father in Azkaban. His mother. His life. He could do this. He had to do it. He clenched his jaw briefly, and crawled forward across pristine bedding. He wasn't thinking at all about sex with corpses, no, but fingers reached out and curled in his hair, tugging him forward. "Yesss, suck me. Get me ready to use you."

Oh bloody fuck.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't but he didn't have any choice. Those sharp nails were in his scalp, digging, and he ducked down. A hot wash of saliva flooded his mouth sickly and then he was _there_ and the world narrowed to a point, vicious and breathless. He opened his mouth and gave a slow suck, pretending it was, it was a piece of wood or, or, no, he couldn't even come up with any hysterical things that could explain it. Not even fellating a broom handle. Those were oiled and well tended at least, and smelled sort of sexy, and he was distracting himself while he sucked but that was all right.

Even there, it felt like scales, dry and rasping on his tongue, the taste making him gag as those fingers pulled him in closer, forcing that... Pushing it deeper in his throat, and Draco's gag reflex hit, making him choke viciously.

He didn't seem to care, rocking his hips back a little before he thrust into his throat again, forcing him to take too much, almost to vomit around it. "You'll learn to become willing, though this squirming becomes you."

Became him. Draco wasn't sure what that meant, didn't want to know, his eyes hot and damp, watering in reaction to the choking invasion. His hands were clenched in the sheets and he couldn't think, couldn't function, couldn't do anything except try desperately to hold onto himself and make it through.

That was all he had to do, make it through. Swallow and breathe and not panic when fingers at the back of his neck held him still. "You have the most delicious fear beneath that famed Malfoy ice."

He was going to choke on it, going to lose his breath and his mind and everything, and even that bit of himself that felt separate was hiding, hiding, hiding. Every thought was scrambled, useless, clouded. Made no sense to him at all. He almost didn't notice when the pressure relented, and the Dark Lord pulled him back by his shoulders. He tsked a little. "One would think you didn't want to be here."

Draco hiccoughed, choked, tried to catch his breath. Tried to keep himself from choking or puking, and he had no proper answer for that, not really. "I. I just. The first time...." He had never thought it would be like this.

"You are honored to serve this task, then." No, not quite. But he was still too hysterical to manage anything coherent as a response. "Stretch out on your back."

On his back.

He would see it all.

Shivering, Draco moved, lying in the center of the bed. So much white and silver and grey, and the diamonds glistering in the firelight. Had he ever noticed the thorns on the posts? He wasn't sure. He noticed it now, until a hand struck his cheek and made him gasp, made him focus when he wanted to do no such thing. "Thankfully there are spells for the dirtier aspects of this."

The thin tickle of blood from the slices of the Dark Lord's nails stung on his cheek and Draco looked up at him, whimpering. What did that mean, anyway?

And then there was a movement of that lipless mouth, and Draco suddenly felt his ass go slick and looser, with almost a heavy force. "You see?"

He was sure there must have been a Confundus charm in there somewhere. Had to have been, because he couldn't think, brows knit, and it didn't feel right. It didn't feel like fingers, teasing and sweet and making him like it, and he was making small, sharp sounds, fear and keening grief of some sort. So scared. So afraid, and he felt like a small mammal caught in the vicious gaze of a rampaging werewolf except there was no werewolf, only the Dark Lord leaning over him, breathing him in before he knelt back. "Yes. Yes. Lift your hips."

Lift his hips? He didn't want to, though. Didn't want to do anything except possibly scream or cry or... he didn't know what, and the Dark Lord was impatient, slapping him hard again. Somehow, he managed to shift, brought one foot up flat against the mattress.

Diamonds.

Thorns.

Lifted his hips for an intrusion he didn't want while the Dark Lord moved between his legs, and he felt that bizarre jutting erection pressing against his ass. It was a mockery of every good moment he'd had along those lines, nothing like it at all, which was almost a relief.

Almost. Not quite, and his throat kept making those terrible sounds, protest and terror and so many things he couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except hiccough the noises, and then he felt the push of that thing, that _thing_ , and he gave a thin cry, reaching up frantically to try and push him away.

He never expected the _Crucio_ that resounded in his ears, a whisper that spasmed through his body as the Dark Lord thrust forward, pushing into him hard and fast while his body danced with pain.

Wailing, howling.

The distance didn't make a damn, not when his nerve endings were on fire, in _flames_. Searing, screaming, scorching, split open. Open, open, empty mind, empty everything, and there was laughter echoing everywhere.

Everywhere.

He felt it more than he heard it, felt the pain that screamed through his bones lift. It wasn't relief, it wasn't an end to the feeling of pain, it just gave way, made room for other pain, the way his body was being jarred forward and he could see the bland look of interest on the Dark Lord's face.

There was lingering fire in his veins, in his bones, and he was split open. Open, open, raw and it was a constant rub against torn skin, that face... that face.

That face, and he couldn't stop screaming. The sound of it was high pitched and cracked, a constant thing, stealing the breath from his chest, the world around him narrowing again, pulling in to a point that was so sharp and black and silver, diamonds and thorns pricking at his skin.

He couldn't get rid of that face or stop screaming, and it was almost a relief when he stopped, stopped, finally finished, and pulled back from Draco. "Yes, I'll have to find someone to teach you technique." The Dark Lord was laughing, sounding so very pleased with himself. "Take your clothes and get out."

Get out, but his motions stuttered and his legs wouldn't hold him up. He was sticky and he hurt in ways that made him madly unaware of anything except that pain. His clothes were. His clothes were somewhere, and the Dark Lord was making sounds of deliberate impatience. He had to... he had to get his clothing. His robes.

His robes.

Draco got his hands on them and got his knees to work. Sort of. Almost sort of, and stumbled to the door, clutching them to his front.

He wasn't sure what good it would do, and the Silver Chamber was so far from the rest of the house, from where he needed to be to get back in his room. Everything hurt, and his muscles weren't working, but he hurried until he was standing in bare feet in an empty hallway, with a door shutting behind him.

Behind him. Thank Merlin.

The halls still held the echo he remembered from childhood, and he leaned against a wall, one hand pressed tightly to it, the other clutching his clothing. He wondered if the Dark Lord would decide to kill him for leaving behind his shoes. It would be preferable, he supposed, to going back, and Draco closed his eyes and let the wall hold him up for some time. He wasn't sure how long, just... a while, until his knees decided they couldn't anymore.

He needed a bath. He needed...

He stayed there for quite some time.


	2. Bloom Like Roses

It had been a very long week.

He'd had one former pimp find him and threaten him -- the man had been surprised to find Perseus threatening him back -- two customers come calling in a way that indicated they were unwilling to take no for an answer, and two potions botched because he was unable to control the temperature with charms because of the Trace.

Getting through the summer without needing to whore himself was clearly going to be more difficult than he had at first hoped it would be, for so many reasons.

His monetary situation was not yet dire, although neither was it particularly good. At least Ernst at Desplats still had a good fear of him, and Perseus was sure that he knew why. Druella, ha. How obvious.

He could've smelled Bellatrix Lestrange in that woman a mile off, but he hadn't dared to think about it in her presence, not even when she was gone. She was too sharp, and it would have started to show on his face.

Still, Perseus couldn't remember ever being so grateful for her unhinged presence as he was at the sudden reduction of prices at Desplats. He'd made his rent for the week, but it was going to be tight for the next week. And the week after...

Reaching up, he rubbed at his eyes and then scrubbed his hand over his hair. It needed washing from spending too much time hovering over his potions, and he scowled down at his latest bit of work. Time to go back to Desplats in any case, but only after he did something about the hair.

There was no need to provide dead giveaways, just in case.

That ate a little of his time. Tidying himself, using the tiny closet of a private washroom that he supposed was an extra necessity for him, given what his backup plan was. He cast a cleaning spell, and stuck his head under the tap.

Half an hour's cleanup, a few wandless cleansing charms on his robes, and he knew he'd need to go out and see to matters. Hopefully everything would still be in place and useable when he returned, so he set what wards he could and moved out into the Alley.

There was nothing else to do.

He had his few coins that he could use tucked into his robes, separate of what he needed for rent, and never mind food, that was a laugh, if he couldn't get what he needed brewed and immediately.

Now that he'd seen a few of his johns and his old pimp, he at least knew which areas of Knockturn to avoid in order to get his business finished. Quick and in good time, that was exactly what he needed.

Desplats was open and seemed reasonably busy, Ernst being obnoxious in a corner, Hortense quietly assisting another man in a corner. There were a few others wandering and looking for whatever items they needed. Perseus decided that he could be patient. He'd wait until the line was worked through, loiter. It wasn't going to be quick at all, and he wasn't happy about that, but the brew he'd stopped wasn't going to get any better if he came back without the ingredients.

The door opened, and the chill that wafted in with the new presence wasn't unsurprising. He didn't even need to turn around to realize that it was Druella.

"Hello again."

He turned a little, and tried to give her a relaxed smile. "Hello, again. It's actually busy today. I think the other shops have all shuttered."

Her eyes were too blue, wide and sparkling, and the corkscrew curls were pulled up atop her head in a soft sort of tumbled way that made her quite visually appealing. "That is a terrible shame. I had hoped that I would have the opportunity to see you again. Such a pretty boy," she purred.

He lifted an eyebrow at her, because it was sort of an honest reaction. "Pretty, ah. Well, thank you?"

"Indeed." Druella reached out, her fingertip tracing up his jawline. "Might you be interested in a little... business proposition?"

Creepy, creepy. "I might be. That depends if it's better than the usual propositions I get?"

She smiled, dimples rising, those insane blue eyes on him hot and heavy with intent. "Why don't you show me the quality of your potions. Then we shall say."

"Yes, well. I just had a batch of everlasting death botch itself because I still have the Trace on me," Perseus murmured, frowning. "So, I'm not quite up to par."

Her fingers continued to touch him, tracing his cheek, thumb stroking over the divot of his upper lip. "And if I could remove the Trace? Or provide you a... location in which to work where you would be shielded from it?"

"I think I'd surpass your expectations." Too close, too intimate, except all of his customers were more intimate than that.

"Hmmm. Why don't you show me to your rooms, lovey?" At least he was familiar with whoring himself.

He held still for a moment, and then leaned in towards her a little. "Yes. Yes, all right. Here, come with me."

One hand folded neatly into her dress, the petticoat rustling. The other traced down his chest to catch his hand. "Of course, pretty boy. Of course."

She was clearly in control, and Perseus led her casually out of the building and down a narrow alley towards another narrow alley and a back door that led to the stairs for the apartments over the inn.

"How lovely." Except that it wasn't, and her voice said as much. She stepped delicately over various bits of trash and offal, her face screwed up in a manner which implied even more than her voice. "Clearly, pretty boy, you could use my assistance. Hopefully you'll prove... mmmm. Worthy."

"My room's clean, at least." He disliked quarters where things, potions, could become contaminated. "I don't stay here all the time. Just between semesters."

"Hmmmm." She sounded so thoughtful, as if she had no plans for him at all, and so he went along with it, laid his hand upon the door and pulled down the bare handful of wandless wards he'd cast earlier before pushing open the door. The scent of the last potion lingered on the air, a vague smell of anise and ginger and verbena . "Very interesting."

"Is it?" He tried for a related smile while he let her follow him in. "Like I said. I'm having a bit of trouble as I have to avoid the Trace."

Her fingers were on him again, caressing possessively. "I have a very nice place where you shan't need to worry about that, but first... show me your wares."

He nodded to her, and sat down on his floor. There was a box, things he'd brewed at school, things he'd been successful with. He started to show her what he had stored up. "Liquid luck. Draught of everlasting death. A wiggenweld compound which I've modified in case you need a few hours to rob a household, the usual love potions..."

"My, my, my." 'Druella' lifted each one in turn, carefully observing the contents of the phials. "May I?"

"Of course." He handed her the love potion. Good love potions had a certain smell to them, and she unstoppered the phial before lifting it to her nose.

Perseus knew what she would smell, of course -- the best ones gave a hint of all the things that attracted someone. Brewing that one he had smelled the tang of apples and fresh sweat, broom polish and a vague hint of books. From the looks of things, her perceptions were quite different from his. There was a gleam of bloodlust in her gaze that made him wary. "Oh, this is... truly excellent."

Knowing Bellatrix the way he did, he was sure he didn't want to know what she was smelling. "I spend a lot of time avoiding the Aurors, but what I can sell, I get a decent rate for. When the cauldron keeps a steady temperature."

"Then consider my offer made, Perseus. If you would like, the money is quite good, and I feel sure that you have heard of Malfoy Manor." Her smile was sly, teasing. "Perhaps there are other ways for you to earn favor there, as well."

Ah, and that was something he wasn't going to be able to keep secret, if he was keeping it part of his, well. Persona. Right to the front of his mind was Draco's face, smug beside him in class. "Draco's home?" He started to pack away his potions, but left her the love potion.

It would've been better if Draco had run away with him, but this was something to which he couldn't say no.

Druella applauded, careful to keep the love potion in her fingers from falling as she did so. "Yes, yes, exactly!" She leaned in close. "Perhaps you have a taste for other pretty boys, then, do you, dear?"

"I, uh..." The hesitation was as good as yes. "A little, yeah. There's nothing wrong with it. Makes the other work I sometimes do bearable." It was a little strange to willingly play into Bellatrix's hands.

She hummed with pleasure and leaned forward, rubbing her face against his jaw. "Then perhaps you would be willing to come with me very soon? I'm sure dear Draco would like to have a friend." Something about the way she said it made him wonder just what had happened to Draco, and just what he was getting himself into when he said yes.

Because he was going to say yes. "Yes. Yes, it won't take me a moment to pack, if..."

"Of course." Of course, and her pleasure was a gleaming, terrifying thing in so very many ways. "And then you can come with me. It will be such a delight to introduce you to... everyone." Everyone. People to whom he'd already been introduced. Everyone who'd killed him once already.

Everyone that he never wanted to leave alone with Draco.

"All right." He would play the agreeable potions savant, tidy his things away neat and fast, knowing that Druella was watching him intently, probably eager to drop her glamour.

It took moments, because he was prepared to move away from the room with a minimum of notice. Everything was neatly packed away into his trunk, and she had out her wand to shrink it into a cartable item, short and quick and neat. "Now, take my hand."

He reached to take her hand without any hesitation at all which was stupid, except he knew more about what he was walking into than he had any right to know. It still left him heartsick, but. He'd very shortly have an answer to his musings on how Draco was.

Perseus slipped his fingers inside of hers, and felt his stomach pull. Side-along Apparition was not for the weak of stomach nor the faint of heart, and when he looked up at the wrought-iron gates from where they had come to rest. Everything looked just as it should, as Draco had described it. "Impressive." He sounded as though he was very impressed, and that made her laugh and take his hand.

"Come with me."

"All right." All right, because everything was all right for a little Knockturn whore who was being given the promise of shaking off the Trace, and money and living in a nice place, though he knew it would be nothing that 'Druella' had promised him. "Draco always talked the place up, but I didn't, I suppose I didn't quite believe him."

"You should see inside. I feel sure that you will have the opportunity to view the Silver Chamber." There was a smug, wicked twist of her lips. "Draco has certainly had the opportunity. Several times now."

"Oh? What's in the Silver Chamber?" A beautiful master bedroom that was for the finest of guests. He'd slept there a time or two himself, until Lucius had given him a place that left Severus feeling a little less snowblind, and closer to the rest of the living spaces.

She leaned forward, her lips pressed lightly to the curve of his ear. They were unpleasantly damp, and he swallowed at the feeling. "The greatest wizard of them all," she breathed, rubbing her breasts against his arm.

He exhaled, and it wasn't hard to be honest in his reaction. "Oh. Oh, it, oh. Can we go inside?" The building was beautiful from the outside, and he knew beautiful from the inside and Draco.

Draco and the Dark Lord.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, there was a tiny wheel, and in it an equally miniscule mouse that ran and ran and ran in it, and Perseus carefully tamped it down to the very bottom of his thoughts. It was better that way, particularly since she was taking his hand and leading him through the gates and to the front door, pushing them open and calling out to anyone who would listen. "I have him, my lord! I have him!"

 _I have him_ , like she'd snatched him. He was suddenly so glad he'd managed not to get snatched yet, so very glad, except it might not have been worse than what he was facing as she hauled him into the front foyer.

There was Narcissa, looking wan and pale, and she was the first thing he really saw, a familiar kind face in the same way Lucius had always been, even when he'd been a bastard. "I fear our Lord has... retired for the afternoon." The way she said it was soft, sick at the core, and his heart skipped a beat. "He will be present for the evening meal."

A wave of a wand made him jerk his head around, and the sight of Bellatrix was a bit shocking. The mad look in her eyes remained, but her hair was white-streaked black and her teeth were horrifying. She laughed, a fair cackle, and patted his cheek. "Little Draco likely won't be at dinner, pretty boy, but that is quite all right. I feel sure the Dark Lord will appreciate your presence instead."

He pressed his lips together, trying not to react to the sudden presence of Bellatrix there. It was better to carry on like he didn't understand at all, because maybe he was understanding wrong. "Can I go see Draco, if he's not feeling well? You must be... Narcissa?" He veered a little, like any young man would when he was trying to make sense of his surroundings, towards the familiar, the sanest person in the room. Probably the whole house. Himself included. "I recognize you from the pictures on his nightstand."

Bellatrix laughed, a thorough cackle, and interrupted before Narcissa spoke. "Draco won't be feeling at all well by dinner, I'm afraid."

"Bella!" Narcissa frowned at her. "Please attend to dinner, if you will." She shook her head and held out her hand. "Come, please, young man. I will show you to a room so that you might settle in comfortably."

"Thank you." He reached out, took her hand, and it was somewhat familiar. Narcissa was cold and calm, while he was nervous, and it had not always been that way. It had usually been the other way, but he supposed it was fitting that Narcissa had found her strength. Had found it years ago. "I, I'm not quite sure what's going on anymore?"

Her fingers were cold in his as she pulled him up the stairs. "I'm afraid, young man, that it will be quite difficult to explain." She seemed to want to say more, but couldn't. "There is a room directly beside Draco's. Perhaps you would be so good as to take it, and..." There came a pause, as if she were gathering her thoughts. "Try not to be angry with him. The last few weeks have been very difficult."

"Why would I be angry with him?" Particularly if, if. If. There was that tiny mouse on a tiny wheel again, and he wasn't going to think about the Silver Chamber.

It startled him when she pulled him in close and placed a gentle kiss on his temple. Perhaps it was comfort for him, but more likely it was comfort for herself. He wondered if Draco was refusing to allow her that small bit of solace. "Draco spoke of you before he came home. I...." She pulled away and gave him something like a smile. "Come."

It left him baffled and uncertain and following her as she tugged at him to follow her. Following her was easy, and he looked to his left and right as they walked, taking in the changes that had happened in the house, subtle disrepairs. "Yes, ma'am."

Yes, ma'am, because there was nothing else he could say. She pulled him along into the east wing, and finally showed him to a small suite of rooms between the master suite and Draco's. There was a connecting door into Draco's rooms and he looked at her sharply, brows knitting.

"These were the nanny's rooms." Except they hadn't been, not for Draco. Lucius had been adamant, and they had kept him every step of the way, adored him, had never allowed a nanny in the house at all to his awareness. "I thought perhaps you would like them."

That was strange, and he knew it had never been that way before.

Something she'd changed. Just because he was coming, whoever they thought he was. "Thank you." It was more than enough space for him, and the door that connected to Draco's left him with a number of questions he couldn't actually ask. "Is, what's happened to Draco?"

Her face seemed frozen, her eyes glittering sharply. "Be patient with him," she requested, and then she left him there, confused and full of doubt and worried. He sat in the quiet and the dark, trying not to think and really trying not to do anything to draw attention to himself for some time. It was possibly something like a breakdown, but Perseus knew he wasn't that sort of man. He'd never needed to sit in dark and quiet to pull himself together before, but it seemed very bad, and that he'd gotten himself into a completely intolerable situation out of sheer curiosity again, and that was a tale as old as his last life.

Perseus managed to nudge open that door between their rooms, though, when he heard movement in the other room, and then the indistinct noise of running water. The room was faintly lit by a handful of candles, although light was blazing from an open doorway across the way, and the sound of the water was louder from there. He moved forwards quietly, carefully, his hands clenched into tight fists because he wasn't sure what he would find when he got there.

He hoped, whatever it was, that it would just be Draco by himself. It would be easier if Draco wasn't putting on a front for anyone else, if he could see what had happened without extra masks. If he could get Draco's attention without scaring the shit out of him. He had his wand in hand, careful, nervous, pacing closer to the bathroom but not able to see past the open door until he got closer. The fact that Draco's room was a mess as he passed through it said volumes.

"Draco?"

Draco.

His head snapped up, white blond hair streaked with rusty blood, face scratched. Even from the door, it was obvious that his eyes were dilated a great deal more than they should have been with so many candles lit. The heat washing outwards from the tub made Perseus step in further to see that Draco's pale skin was red everywhere the water had touched.

He didn't say a word, almost as if... he didn't know. As if Draco had expected to see him there, and he wondered what Draco was taking.

And what he could substitute for it.

It was and it wasn't what Perseus had been expecting to see, had been fearing to see. He edged in closer, still watching Draco, waiting for him to startle but that startle wasn't coming. Instead, Perseus slipped his wand back into his sleeve, and reached for a glass stoppered bottle that he was sure would contain shampoo. "Close your eyes. I'll help you with your hair." Help him with everything, seal the scratches, ease him down.

And Narcissa had expected him to be angry with Draco?

Whatever the case, it seemed that the instruction was what he needed. Draco obeyed even as he swallowed hard. His hands were under the water, twisting a cloth, rubbing almost as if he could wipe it all away, and it made him feel sick. He didn't expect Draco to say anything, so when he did it was startling.

"They say Great-Great-Aunt Mildreth had hallucinations before she died." The sound was soft and barely-there, and he was still scrubbing at his skin beneath the water. "They say she died happy."

Perseus swallowed, fingers slowly massaging shampoo into Draco's scalp. It was scented, more of a soothing oil than a harsh surfactant, and Perseus thought he could make something similar. "You're not going to die."

Draco hummed and opened his eyes for just a moment before closing them again. "That's what you say every night."

It made his heart clench, and he shifted on his knees, stretching his toes a little so staying there would be comfortable, kneeling like that. "What else do I tell you every night?"

His shoulders seemed broader than they had a few weeks ago, the knobs of his spine more prominent. He shrugged and kept washing. "That I can't die yet. That I have to wait. That Mother... I have to protect my mother. If I can. I don't know if I can. She's trying so hard."

Perseus wanted to believe that was true. He scooped up water with his hands, because he'd been in relationships, he'd been intimate with many people over his lifetime, and there were times when wands and magic were wholly inappropriate. A moment could be a spell as much as a flick of the wrist, and it was simpler to sluice water over Draco's hair carefully, rinsing away the shampoo. "You're not going to die. I'm going to help you here, now. Your aunt Bellatrix found me."

When Draco shifted to look at him, the irises were a thin ring of silver-grey and he could see himself reflected in the sheer encompassing black of his pupil. "You can't help me but I'm always glad when you're here." He didn't acknowledge the reality of him, and perhaps for now it was better not to push it.

Better to take his time, to reach for the washcloth instead in hot-warm water and to ease it gently from Draco's fingers. Except for the still-open cuts, he surely had to be clean. "Let me help you stand and I'll dry you off."

He seemed to be capable of following instructions in his state because he put a hand on the side of the tub and stood. There were worse scratches and cuts further down and he moved awkwardly, as if his knees didn't work properly, or perhaps his hips.

Probably his hips. He grimaced, grabbing a towel and holding Draco steady, murmuring _episkey_ quietly in the back of his mind as he gently ran it over damaged skin. He wanted to say he was sorry except it wasn't his fault at all.

There were pink marks, thin lines in places that neither of them needed to think about, and scabs that had gone loose and puffy in the hot water. He had essence of dittany next door in his things, and he would get it when he had settled Draco somewhere that he could mostly see him. He didn't seem to be fighting any of the movements, just standing there and allowing Perseus to dry him.

He wondered how long he had been taking whatever it was and what could possibly be in it. Perhaps Narcissa was giving it to him. Probably she was, so he would ask her if he had the opportunity. It had probably kept Draco from breaking apart entirely, but it still couldn't have been good for him.

No potion like that ever was.

He took care with Draco, and when he was dry, Perseus slipped a robe on him and walked him back to his bedroom. "I think I can make some of these stop hurting."

Draco hummed his agreement, and he wondered if that was something the Perseus in his imagination said every night, too

The bed was in a state of wreckage much like the rest of the bedroom. The covers were rumpled, papers and books and personal items spread out over one side of it. With a bit of prompting, he climbed into it willingly, fingers curling around an ancient rag doll as he curled up to rest his head on the pillow. Draco had talked about all of this, about crisp white sheets and dragons wheeling in flight upon the walls, and this seemed nothing like any of those things. The dragons all seemed to slink around the head of the bed, peering over and around the ornate headboard instead, and the sheets were dark and too warm for the summer weather.

He left Draco there, intent on fixing that as well. But for a moment, he slipped off to get the dittany, to get anything that might be useful to help Draco.

Draco was still awake when he returned, lying quietly and watching for him. "You don't normally come in from there," he noted. It didn't seem to surprise him nor did it imply any sort of curiosity. It was only a factual statement, and it made Perseus wonder if his hallucinations simply appeared and Draco accepted them as reality. Probably, and he would need to talk to Narcissa very soon.

"Thought it best to change things up." He knelt beside Draco on the bed, his mouth a tense line as he began to apply the dittany. "Aren't those sheets a little warm?"

"Maybe." He didn't seem to mind, though. "But the others are all white. I'm going to burn them one day." As if that made any sense at all, but it was unsurprising.

"Of course." He wrapped his hands in the fabric, and clutched them, concentrating. Transfiguring fabrics wasn't hard, but it did take concentration to turn the dark green sheets into a dark green soft cotton.

Draco gave a murmur of sound and settled himself more comfortably in the bed, closing his eyes. His breath didn't even out, but that was all right. He would rub the dittany over the scratches and try to look for any worse injuries so long as Draco remained calm.

He seemed like he was going to remain calm, as Perseus lingered over the injuries, taking care. He'd never wanted to see Draco in such a state. "Do you think you can sleep?"

"Eventually, but I always dream." He was looking at him again, eyes still dilated, but there was a line between fine blond brows, serious. "By now, you're usually in the bed, too."

He suspected they'd come get him for supper. Introduce him to Voldemort, probably put him through a round of whatever the man felt like, and that tiny frightened mouse on the wheel in the back of his mind needed to shut up and get back in its cage because Perseus didn't have time for it.

"I can do that." He shifted, still dressed -- thank Merlin they were clean robes -- and laid down beside Draco. He automatically shifted, curling into him, one of the hands that had been clutching the rag doll coming up to find his.

The quiet stretched out for a while, only the sound of their breathing present. It was a little startling when the silence was broken. "I'm glad you aren't really here."

He shifted his fingers in Draco's, and clenched his eyes shut. "I'm sorry." He wished he wasn't there, either, and he wished Draco wasn't there and he'd died there once, in the deep deep dungeons, and Draco hadn't heard, hadn't known, and Perseus generally never dwelled on it. He was going to need to strangle that bloody mouse and bury him in the dirt below the cellar floor of his soul in short order.

The candles flickered, and burnt low, and eventually Draco's breath came even and steady, deep with sleep. Perseus knew time had passed, possibly a lot of it, and so he began to extricate himself gently, trying not to wake him.

He moved slowly, purposefully, keeping the door between their rooms open a crack so he would be able to see movement and light if he were in his rooms. He knew he probably needed to stick his head out into the hallway and find out about food and what was going to be asked of him, but he was also fairly certain that someone would come looking for him when it was time for supper. A quick glance at the clock told him that he had time for a bath and a change of clothing, so he moved to take care of it in quick order.

Better to be ready than to risk making things worse for him.

Perseus kept quiet, though, not wanting to disturb Draco. There was a possibility that he could leave, of course, get out and just start walking, but Draco. He couldn't leave Draco there.

Damn him and his sense of responsibility, and the fact that he hadn't made him come with him when school ended.

He was mostly dressed again when a faint rap sounded at the door, making him jump and glance towards Draco's room. There was no sound, no motion, the candlelight didn't come up at all, so Perseus moved to answer the knock, tugging open the door to reveal Narcissa.

He really was torn between punching and hugging her. Instead, he lifted his eyebrows at her and took a step forward, nudging her backwards, out into the hallway. "What're you giving him?"

Draco's mother didn't flinch, only glanced from one side of the hall to the other and then _looked_ at him and began to crowd him back towards his room just as insistently. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Is Draco unwell? I'll come see him."

He went with her, let her close the door behind her, and kept looking at her with what he hoped were impressively hard eyes. "What're. You. Dosing him with?" He repeated it, hoping that the silence of the rooms was enough for her.

"Blooming mind's ease," she told him, shortly, quietly. "Professor Snape had a stock of it in the potions laboratory, and there were enough ingredients to make more of it. I tried other things first, but nothing worked properly." She was pale, her jaw was set, and she was clearly determined. "If you care for him at all, you will say nothing."

His expression crunched a little, and he knew it. Blooming mind's ease was not something he would have given someone for a longterm effect. "If you care for him at all, you wouldn't give it to someone our age as a long term dosage. It's meant for adults. He's hallucinating." Perseus gestured sharply towards the barely cracked open door, keeping his voice as quiet as possible. "I'll come up with something. I'll come up with something and don't you dare give him any more of it."

Never mind if she'd even slightly botched a dose of it.

Narcissa looked at him, a steady, unwavering gaze that likely should have sent a boy his age running. She seemed to come to some sort of decision, because she glanced at Draco's door and then looked back at him, reaching out to take his wrist. "Better hallucinating than some of the things he's seen the last weeks. Now that you're here, perhaps all of that will change. Perhaps it won't. Find something better, and for Merlin's sake, keep your mind on anything else but that. Don't think on it, don't speak of it, it does not exist. You understand?"

He understood very well. "Yes. I suppose you've come to get me for dinner."

She nodded, and held out her hand in invitation. "I will show you the way."

He took it, and let her pull him out of his rooms again, let her walk him down the hallway, while he carefully corralled his mind. He was tired now, emotionally wrung out more than anything, and the night was still young, and Narcissa was murmuring soft instructions every step of the way.

Never enter the West wing without express invitation.

Nor the Green Diamond Room.

The potions laboratory may be found in the gardens, near the small family cemetery. Take Draco with you if you can.

Never, ever cross Bellatrix Lestrange.

That one, he already knew.

He nodded to each instruction, though, intent on taking Draco with him first thing in the morning. He knew where the kitchens were, how best to sneak food out and go to work. There would likely be a list as long as his arm of things that needed brewing, but he would do it gladly if it bought them time. Time, space, something. Anything, and he was pulling all of his mind together, placing things rapidly so that it was all perfect and pristine and exactly as it should be by the time they reached the foyer. There were other people there, people who didn't seem to belong, and Perseus looked at them all with a great curiosity.

He put on his curious air, though it was dampened a little because... Draco. Still, there was something to be done there and he was there with Draco rather than off by himself. Narcissa nudged him towards a chair, and he went, sitting down and still taking in faces.

Some of them seemed familiar, some of them didn't. A fair number of them tended to show up in the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_. The rest of them he was fairly certain did as well, although it was likely in the reported crimes section. Then there were a few old standbys, filtering in at their leisure. Bellatrix, and the Dark Lord. His appearance didn't shock Perseus the way he supposed it should've, and everyone shuffled to their feet when he entered the room.

He went with it.

"Ah, so good of you to come." Very gracious, and a giant snake slithering in after him, which made Perseus's eyes go wide and a bit round, just because. "And I am told that we have a new young man who is quite the capable brewer of potions with us this evening.” Eyes turned on him, gleaming deep and red deep inside of them, making Perseus's skin shiver.

"Yes, sir." And he thought about brewing, brewing at school and brewing in his room, and school again, familiar spaces that he knew like the back of his hand.

The curl of those thin lips seemed pleased. "Most excellent. We have sorely missed the presence of a talented potioneer." That gained slight laughter, all around the table. Narcissa's mouth curled faintly, and she was still looking at him. "Tomorrow, we will test your skills, young man. For now... everyone may be seated."

He sat promptly, keeping his eyes lowered to the table, though he darted a sideways look at Narcissa, as if to ask _what_? But there was no way she could tell him whatever was making her smile, or why it was such a funny joke.

The Death Eaters round the table settled in, and there was a ridiculous amount of food on the table, more every second. He served himself, and sat quietly, listening to the conversation for quite a while before he caught bits of conversation about the previous potions master, someone snickering about weeks and blood and screaming.

It wasn't exactly proper dinner conversation, and it was worrisome, which he could let show itself a little as he chewed on a piece of bread and sat back in his chair. Finally, he leaned over to Narcissa and whispered, "May I be dismissed?" It certainly wasn't going to improve the quality of the meal if he sat there and kept listening.

She glanced at him and then at the Dark Lord. He seemed to be deeply involved in conversation with Bellatrix and a man who had a faintly possessive hand upon her leg. The tilt of her chin was stubborn. "I think perhaps the Dark Lord would like to meet with you later, but for the moment I don't think it would be inappropriate for you to be allowed to leave."

He took another piece of bread, and nodded as he scooted his chair back. "I can find my way back to the rooms. I'll unpack."

Until Draco was something more together, he was going to be staying.

The touch of eyes, hot and heavy, rested upon him as he slid out of the chair, conversation quieting around him. "Perseus." His name, sibilant and soft on the lips of the Dark Lord.

He stopped, and turned around slowly. "Yes, sir?" He'd need to work out what else to say, what else to call him. Hopefully he wouldn't need to have to work it out.

"I would like to see you first thing in the morning. I have... many things I would like for you to do for me."

"Yes, sir. When and where would you like me?" He held onto the extra piece of bread, not that anyone but him was going to care. Not that he thought he was going to eat it, when all he wanted to do was crawl into bed.

The Dark Lord tilted his head forward, and the nose slits made Perseus shiver as much as his smile. "Eight, in the Green Diamond Room. I am sure that Narcissa or Draco will be able to show you the way." Snickers rose at that, from all around the table.

"Yes, sir." Green Diamond Room, right. He could do that, and for the moment, he hesitated and then moved to slink off. There were mutterings behind him, words like boy and whore and Draco's name. Ignoring them, he slipped from the dining room and into the wide hall, picking up speed as he moved towards the stairs.

Hopefully Draco was still asleep. Come morning, he'd probably have to explain his hallucination, and somewhere in there he needed to find another way to dose him. Too many things to do and not enough time until the next morning.

He decided to spend it in Draco's bed.

* * *

  
He'd not slept worth a damn.

Draco had been curled into a ball in the center of the bed when he'd gotten upstairs, but he hadn't stayed that way. He was coming down off of the mind's ease, and also clearly having nightmares in the moments between when he might have managed to sleep some on his own, so Perseus had woken pretty much every time he made a sound.

It made for a horrible night, and a worse morning.

He feigned energy, dragged himself out of bed and made sure he was presentable. Draco was still asleep, so he left him there and set off to find the Green Diamond room with a little help from the last few pictures on the wall. They were all Malfoys, which meant they were mostly pale with pointy noses and a remarkable sense of arrogance that seemed somehow repressed save one. He stood in a frame at the head of the stairs, glaring down towards the first floor with his lips pursed tightly. He looked so much like Draco and his father that Perseus knew he had to be Abraxus Malfoy.

Sometimes he wondered if the male line cloned themselves. "I'm looking for the Green Diamond Room," Perseus said, though he didn't need to. It was just better to ask, to be seen asking.

Abraxus peered down his pointy nose at him as if his suspicions had doubled from the movement of his glare between the first floor and Perseus. "And I suppose you want me to give you directions?" He didn't wait for a reply, just flung his hand upwards in a sharp gesture of impatience. "Proceed down the stairs and to the left. Third room on the right." He muttered to himself after that, mostly angry mutterings about Lucius.

"Thank you." It was almost a relief to be yelled at by a Malfoy. Perseus followed that direction, starting down the stairs with fast steps. No need to delay. It was better to have it over and done, so he hurried his steps as he turned to the left in search of the Green Diamond Room.

There were voices coming from the room Abraxus had indicated, and he paused on the threshold, uncertain of his welcome. Conversation continued for a short moment before the Dark Lord turned towards the door, mouth twisting into something resembling a smile. "Ahhh, young Perseus. Do come forwards."

He closed the door behind him, and stepped forward, unsure of what his poise should be, whether he should look at the other people in the room, whether he needed to acknowledge them as well. "Yes, sir."

"Mrs. Lestrange has shared with me your... very nice potion from yesterday. It is excellent quality, considering the hampering you must feel from the Trace." Those red eyes were on him, making him nervous.

"It mostly restricted what I could brew, and the usual temperature sorts of charms that keep the quality even." Perseus didn't shrug, even if he wanted to. He folded his hands behind his back instead. "I excel in potions class, sir."

Bellatrix laughed, and the two men who were standing near her, as if there was something funny about it. He wondered what, but had a feeling that he didn't want to know. "Yes, so I hear. Young Malfoy as well, although he has... other duties to attend at this time. I should like you to begin today with something quite difficult. We have something of a hanger on in Fenrir Greyback. Disgusting creatures, werewolves, but occasionally... quite useful. If properly controlled. I feel sure you have heard of the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Yes, sir. I think I can make that, given the ingredients." His mouth compressed a little, while he wondered the best way to broach what he was thinking about saying. Offer himself in place of Draco because Draco wasn't meant for it, and in a way, he was. Always had been. It had been a fluke, ending up at Hogwarts, and he could whore just as well at Malfoy Manor as not. Perhaps even better, if it meant things with Draco got better.

"I am sure that you can find your way to the potions laboratory. That will be all, young Perseus. As yet." The Dark Lord was very clearly perusing him, and equally obviously dismissing him at once.

It wasn't in his nature to let it go, to let harm befall friends if he could stop it. He couldn't just stand quietly by. "My lord, Draco..."

"Is not a matter to be addressed by you." Short, sharp, and to the point. "You are dismissed."

He clenched his jaw for a moment, but decided it wasn't the time to press his point. "Yes, sir." He could go fetch Draco, take him with him to the laboratory. Stay with him, keep him close. Keep him safe for at least short periods of time. It was the best he could manage, and so he turned and quietly removed himself from the Green Diamond Room to go back upstairs again.

Abraxus was still muttering to himself, mostly about Lucius's poor taste in acquaintances. "And now you're just one more. I tell you, I shall find a way to hex you before it is all over and done!"

"Your son is in prison and his pureblooded friends are raping bastards. Go hex yourself," he spat, walking past and keeping walking. The Malfoys had been known as proponents of anti-Muggle sentiment for generations but he had a feeling that perhaps Abraxus was learning something in his portrait-state. He stormed his way along the hall and entered his own bedroom before going to the connecting door.

He supposed it was better late than never.

Slowly, quietly, he pushed open the connecting door, peering around for signs that Draco was moving. The lighter sheets had helped somewhat, at least kept Draco from sweating. He was still lying there, ragdoll clutched in his hand, although Perseus was almost certain he was awake now. His eyes were still closed, but he was too tense, held too much in reserve as if he was only waiting for something to happen to him.

"Draco? I thought you might want breakfast." That would involve getting breakfast, but Perseus's general plan was to head to the lab and have it sent.

He seemed to relax, because he blinked open his eyes with a vague sound of pain. "Oh. It's still working. That cannot possibly be a good thing."

Perseus reached his fingers out, and brushed the backs of them against Draco's cheek. "No, not really. Your aunt Bellatrix brought me here to make potions."

It was painful, the way that Draco rubbed his cheek against his fingers and then pulled back with a horrified expression that he hated to see. "You. It's... it's really you?"

His heart sank a little, but he wasn't going to let it show. "Yeah. It's really me, Draco. So, do you feel up to going to the potions lab with me?" He wasn't going to let Draco really think things over too much, not without having to give a response.

He looked worse in the morning light filtering in through pale curtains. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the cut on his cheek was still pink. Perseus could only imagine what else lay beneath the sheets, streaks of healing cuts and bruises. "I. I don't." Confusion wasn't unexpected considering what Narcissa had been giving him.

Perseus stayed where he was, lingering, watching Draco. "I say it because I think it might be better for us to stick together."

Fingers clenched tightly on the doll, and Draco bit into his lower lip, looking back at him. "You're here. I. I wanted you. To be here."

"I'm here," he confirmed quietly. "And I'm not going to leave you. But they want me to brew Wolfsbane, so if I'm not going to leave you, you're going to need to go with me to the lab."

The wild look lingered in his eyes, behind them, and Draco shivered visibly. "I... I ought to be where I can be found. If he...." Horrified, and it was justifiably so. "I'm supposed to be where I can be found."

"Potions lab, Draco. He knows I'll be there. He told me to go there." He reached out, finally sliding fingers loosely around Draco's wrist to tug at him. "It's okay. I just think you need air."

It seemed to be enough. The tug got him moving, got him out of bed, naked and pale and too thin, licking his lips, the doll still loose in his hand like something he needed for comfort. "Okay."

"And I'll get the house elves to bring food." And he'd see that he was dressed. He wished, in a way, that he were older, his other self. That wouldn't have been happening to Draco if he were, if everything had gone all right, if some ministry shit weasel hadn't decided to whisper their suspicions. But at least he was there to try to help, buffer.

Draco moved as he was instructed, Perseus herding him to the wardrobe. He slipped on clothing as directed, even if it was just pajamas and a summer weight set of robes settled over them. He was blinking, and slow, but he did what Perseus directed him to do, even laying down the doll when the time came.

It took patience, but Perseus had that, patience and fear and nerves and his own worries and a need to protect Draco all tangled up together. Escorting him out of his room with gentle tugs and through a passageway he shouldn't have known was there to get to the gardens faster was worth it. He ran across a house-elf on the way, and asked for breakfast to be brought to the lab. That gained him a flap of ears, a few blinks, and then the elf popped off to obey.

"It's remarkable." Draco looked around, his eyes drifting from side to side, up and down all along the way. "That you found this. Grandfather said Brutus Malfoy had made it. It leads out to the gardens. There's a fountain, and a tunnel beneath it, just in case." In case they needed to escape another Burning.

Or a Dark Lord. "I generally assume places like this lead to other interesting places. People tend not to build routes like this to a dead end. Your mother said the lab was in the gardens?"

"In the garden shed." He was talking again, and that was good. It was something, in any case, and Perseus would take what he could get. "You said something about Bellatrix." Not aunt, and it was really no wonder. Who could think of a woman like that as a relative, given a choice?

"Found me in a potions ingredient shop. She said the manor hasn't got a Trace, and I knew you'd be here, and I... Her eyes are very strange, and I was worried." And now he was more worried, but that was all right. At least he could do something.

Even if it was just getting him off of the mind's ease.

The exit for the secret passage let out into the gardens in a slide of marble that was remarkably quiet, even considering magic and regular greasing. Draco blinked in the bright light, brows knitting, and he frowned. "That was. It was really you last night. I wasn't imagining it?"

"It was me." And Draco probably didn't want help, but he was damn well going to get it.

The gardens were bright at least. Not bright sunlight cutting through his eyes in a hot and burning way, but light and bright and full of life. It smelled good out there, too. All in all it was a vast improvement, even if they were headed for the shed.

He pushed open the door to the shed and glanced at the contents. It was bigger on the inside, tables everywhere, a remarkable number of ingredients. Unsurprisingly, it was very well-supplied, and he tugged Draco in after him, tugging his wand out to transfigure one of the stools into a much more comfortable seat, large enough for Draco to settle into for a while. Settle and lounge in. There was a window in one corner, and if he happened to have picked a stool that way, well. "Food will be here soon. Now, Wolfsbane..."

Aconitum vulparia and crushed black beetle shell, powdered crocodile heart and dragon liver. It was simple enough to gather the necessary ingredients, all while keeping an eye on Draco. He seemed to be incredibly twitchy, which was altogether unsurprising considering the current state of his health and undoubtedly his mind, so Perseus also gathered hellebore and peppermint and ginger, setting two cauldrons to simmer with vapor-distilled water from the stores.

When the house-elves came back with breakfast, it was in a quick pop of quiet, tea and a tray of plain simple food that he was rather sure Draco could handle. Toast and eggs and bacon, crisp and perfect, all laid out on the plate in a manner clearly meant to be tempting. He remained curled in the chair Perseus had transfigured for him, looking pale and tragic and generally not at all like himself. It would be amusing if it weren't so completely horrifying. Hopefully later on they'd both be alive to find the humor in it. He finally moved over to Draco, nibbling on his own piece of toast and considering the most effective way to brew both potions at once. Perseus preferred to spend more time in the prep work, and less in planning mid-action. "You need to eat. I'm brewing draught of peace, and it does work better if you've eaten."

Draco blinked at him, almost as if coming out of a stupor. "I'm sorry. What?" He looked confused and he very likely was, considering how high he'd probably been for god alone knew how long.

"I'm brewing you Draught of Peace. But you need to eat something. You can't keep taking what your mother gave you." Because he was there, and he could handle that. He needed to go powder moonstone.

The directions seemed to get through to him because Draco began to eat, slowly and carefully. He wondered how Narcissa had hidden this, this complete inability to do anything without instruction. Perhaps it had only just gotten as bad, but he rather doubted it. It surprised him when Draco spoke. "My head is throbbing ridiculously. I think perhaps a cobbler elf has moved in behind my left eye via my ear."

"There're potions for that as well." Perseus said it with a twinge of amusement in his voice, trying to keep things light. He certainly wasn't going to talk about that, either. "Keep letting me know what I need to make a stockpile of."

Draco looked at him, and it was clear that he was likely going to ask something that didn't have a proper answer, or at least not one that he would want to give. "Why are you being so... stupidly nice?"

"Because I care about you, and I can't fix this." His mouth pulled down a little, and he took another bite of his toast. "And if things are going to hell in a hand basket, you might as well have company."

Another forkful of egg was consumed before he received the full force of the Malfoy grey gaze, narrowed and firm. "Are you certain you weren't sorted Hufflepuff by any chance? Clearly that damned hat has gone spare."

Just as clearly the food was doing him some good.

"No, I think this is much more Gryffindor, charging in where angels fear to tread and unicorns know is a bad choice." He shrugged his shoulders, leaning in a little to pour tea for them both. "I'm going to spend today brewing, and sniping with you, I can tell."

That laugh had something of a hysterical edge. "Well, we needn't worry about unicorns anymore, in any case."

"You never had to worry about unicorns. They'd find out I was in the vicinity and run off in a herd." He handed Draco the tea cup as well, tidying off his own toast. He wandered in a circle, shaking crumbs off of his shirt front.

Hysteria, yes, cynicism, all right. Also a fair amount of confusion, but he took a long sip, brows knit as he watched Perseus move about, tugging out potions ingredients and getting them ready to dice. "I don't understand. Frankly."

"What part?" He was laying them out in sets by what needed to be done to them, by how the timings would best go. Finally, he went for the mortar and pestle, and brought out a knife.

Draco didn't answer him; just sat there with his teacup in hand, slowly eating his breakfast. He looked more himself, more real, less as though he was two steps from fracturing entirely with little or no prompting. Perhaps it was more than just coming off of the mind's ease, but Perseus would hate to give himself that much credit.

He started to powder the moonstone, hard motions that left his arms sore at the onset because of the immense pressure it would take. He could set that potion to going first, though, as it spent longer periods simmering. "We're going to survive this, you know."

He heard Draco hum softly, although he said nothing for several moments, only watching him work. When he finally replied, it was quiet and serious. "We really aren't."

"I'm surprisingly stubborn," Perseus murmured, focusing on what he was doing. It was crumbly, like shortbread dough, so he had a bit to go with the moonstone. "So. We will."

"And you were really there last night." A long pause came after that, and he heard Draco moving, walking closer. He seemed a bit unsteady, but he was there, watching the moonstone turn slowly to powder. "When I... when I was bathing."

"Yes." And he'd fetched the dittany and fixed bones that had no right to be fractured. "Yes, that was me."

Pale hands reached out, lifted the knife and began to pare away the skin of the ginger, careful and slow. His fingers weren't steady and the occasional slip nearly cut them. Perseus waited patiently, eyeing the powder. Still coarse.

"And you aren't... angry. Upset. I mean."

He started to crush it finer, knowing that working it more firmly would get what he needed. Magical interventions would only taint the final product. "No. That's daft, why would I be angry at you? I'm rather angry at your mother, your aunt, and, well. A lot of other people, but I'm also in no position to do anything about it."

It wasn't unexpected, the way Draco gasped, shoulders bowing in for just a second before he gained control of himself. He licked his lips, laid down the finger of ginger and the knife and put his hands on the table. "It's.. it's not my mother's fault. She's trying to help. It's my fault for not being strong enough to...."

"To enjoy being raped? And tortured, and tormented? You had broken _bones_ , he _broke_ bones and you're trying to say you're not strong enough to... I don't know. He killed your head of House, Draco. He's going to keep doing whatever he likes to whomever he likes, and I don't think he's much of a Lord and Master." He clenched his jaw, and finally the moonstone was powder. He took the ginger finger, and the knife, close by Draco's side. He could feel the heat coming off of him, and maybe it surprised him when Draco turned into him and laid his cheek against his shoulder.

Mostly it didn't.

"I wanted...." He didn't say, but then, he didn't have to articulate it. They both knew. "But he's very unhappy. With Father. With Mother, though she didn't do anything, I don't think. It's... punishment. I suppose."

"There isn't really a reason. It's just whatever he feels like making up today." He stayed where he was, enjoying the closeness as much as he had the night before. "So. We'll get through this. Get back to school." Buy themselves time for Potter to finish it off, if they were both lucky.

They would keep not thinking about it, which was something they would need to discuss before they left the potions laboratory, but for now Draco was warm against his side, turning in to him more closely, eyes half closed. He was a great deal more himself, or so it seemed, but a good look at him made Perseus lay a hand on him, catch his attention. "Hm?"

"You should sit down and enjoy the sunlight. I'll finish this." Just a nudge, a faint pull, but he didn't want more of Draco's blood spilled. "Thank you, though."

It was enough, because he curled into the chair again and closed his eyes, face turned away from the sunlight. "All right."

No; it wasn't all right. It wasn't all right and it wasn't how it was supposed to be. but Perseus couldn't do anything but brew potions and be there to mitigate it all.

* * *

  
Life was reasonably horrible.

Draco wasn't entirely certain that he did not prefer his mother's solution in all honesty. Perseus's potions had not quite so many side effects, but neither were they quite as effective in blocking out the things that went on in the Silver Chamber.

There was also little to be done about mid-afternoon lessons with his aunt Bellatrix, which was a special sort of hell. The fact that both of them were required to go to them was not in any way a relief. He now just had company in his hell, and still no understanding of why Perseus was there, why he was putting himself at risk. It didn't make sense to Draco to run towards danger.

Given half a choice, Draco thought he would take to his heels with whatever he could filch from the hidden chamber beneath the Green Diamond Room. Instead he stayed and suffered lessons with his mad aunt some afternoons and... other things with the Dark Lord most nights. Perseus had tried to go with him more than once, but the Dark Lord had thus far sent him away immediately. It was for the best; what sort of madman volunteered for that kind of horror? Draco wasn't sure that he could do the same were their positions reversed.

He was rather sure he wouldn't have, actually. It was bad enough that Perseus broke from the near constant brewing they had him doing to follow Draco to the Sapphire Arch room, where Bellatrix was pacing the floor and grinning madly.

Draco never asked where Perseus had learned to make half of what he did. Some things were better left alone. He might not have understood that before, but he understood it now. Draco had always possessed a voracious curiosity; knowledge was a better coin sometimes than gold, and it allowed him to do the sorts of things that made Potter miserable. Once, it had been such a simple thing, knowledge for the sake of knowledge, and also perhaps for fun and profit.

Now it was something else altogether -- dangerous and frightening and better all around not to know. If he did not know, he could not answer. He hoped it was the same for Perseus, because Bellatrix was telling him to cast Legilimens on him, while Perseus sat in a chair looking terse.

"He's an easy target, and we will come across so. So many of them."

There was no point in arguing about it; saying a thing was undesirable to either his aunt or the Dark Lord was as good as asking for _Cruciatus_ , and Draco wasn't anything like a masochist despite his current predicament. No matter how many times he suffered beneath that curse, it never once got any better. It was always so distinctly terrible that he wanted nothing more than the relief of dying.

He wondered if Professor Snape had been glad when he finally died.

"Legilimens!"

Pushing into Perseus mind wasn't hard at all, though the first few times he'd cast the spell it hadn't worked at all. The challenge was in trying to control when he was looking. While listening to Bellatrix hiss in his ear.

"Are you in? Now, to find the first time your little friend here whored himself out."

Morganna, he didn't want to know that. There were some things they didn't discuss together in detail, things it was better not to ask. He had fixed that egregious declaration of whoring before the Gryffindors took advantage of it and he had pretended quite well that those lies were truth ever since.

Still, telling his aunt no was not an option.

He tried to be gentle, plucking only lightly at strings of thought that led to all sorts of places, old places, new places, things. There was one that said _Draco Draco Draco_ , and he avoided that for the moment because he knew Perseus was nearly dumbstruck around him, clearly dumb enough to go where only Gryffindors dared to tread. He didn't need to pull out the specifics, only follow out his aunt's order. He found one that seemed like it might be right, one dark thread among many, faintly pulsating green and shadow, and he yanked.

And there he was, falling into a memory made of smoke, solid and intangible, watching Perseus much younger sidle up to Rosier on the alley. "Hey. Hey, you look like you have some time on your hands."

It made him sick to think of because Perseus was a child in that memory, younger than Draco had ever felt. Perhaps he was all of nine, if Draco were feeling generous about it.

Oh no. No, he didn't want to see this, not ever, and it explained Perseus not being angry with him for allowing the Dark Lord to have him. Rosier smiled, a smile much like he still had, and the corner of his mouth pulled up too far to be pleasant. He settled a hand on Perseus's shoulder. "I think I have some time on my hands, yes."

"I need help." Rosier was asking him what kind of help, and Draco was distracted for a moment because Bellatrix was pushing in his head, too, watching him watch to be sure he was doing it.

"Lovely, lithe thing, wasn't he? I like this memory."

Draco didn't. He didn't like it at all, and she knew it, laughed as Rosier led Perseus by the hand towards a shoddy, cheap inn just down the alley. His aunt snorted at his horror. "Such delicate sensibilities. I'd have thought those would be fucked out of you by now, darling Draco." Always, always alliterative and insulting. "It's that weak Malfoy line. Too French, too much Veela blood." He would have liked to protest -- the Malfoys were as purebred as anyone -- but Rosier had Perseus in a room now, reaching for him, touching him, and he was clearly near tears.

Why was it that some recollections passed in a flash of time, but the worst ones seemed to take forever?

He was sure Perseus hadn't meant to do this, that he was actually asking for help, and where in Merlin's beard were his mother and father? It wasn't a memory Draco could feel the thread of, and Bellatrix made him snap tight to that moment, to Perseus's hazy recollection that finally started to fall to shreds. It turned into pain and the texture of the sheets and sweat-hot skin against his own, and confusion because it hurt hurt hurt and he was hungry, and the memory broke away, stopped, and they were both out of Perseus's mind.

"I can't. No." He was wild eyed, staring back at them both, but he'd _kicked_ them out. "No."

"How interesting." It was practically a purr of sound, Draco's aunt weaving closer to Perseus, all hips and strange motion. "We seem to have a budding Occlumens on our hands. Draco dear, you have such... interesting playthings."

He shoved his panic into a box inside a box that resided inside a cave at the bottom of the stormy sea that occasionally took over his brain. "Natural talent," Draco stated shortly. "Likely a requirement of his former profession. Nothing more, surely."

"The headmaster said so." Perseus pressed back against the back of his chair like he could sink into it, still staring at Bellatrix. "You saw what you wanted to see. I think Draco and I need to get back to the laboratory..."

"Oh, no, no, no. You have such interesting memories...." She was altogether too happy about that, reaching out and slipping her fingers into his dark, messy hair, twining herself around him. Draco wondered how his horrible uncle would feel about that.

"The Dark Lord wants us to finish the Veritaserum," Draco said loudly, voice higher pitched than he would have liked. "We..."

Bellatrix laughed. "It only takes one of you, Draco dumpling. Funny how he's the whore and you're the one serving on your back, isn't it? Ah, but talent will out."

"It takes two of us to make as much as the Dark Lord wanted by tonight," Perseus murmured, trying to stay calm, and Draco could tell. Draco was half afraid it was to use on them, and maybe it was. Perseus shifted one leg, stretching it out between Bellatrix's legs where she was straddling him.

With a huff of breath, Bellatrix stood, wand tightly in her grasp. "You've got more of Abraxus in you than Lucius, brat, more's the pity."

Whatever that meant. Draco didn't care, he just wanted to be free and away from the point of her wand. "We have a job to do." And they needed to finish the dose he took before evening now, better than the mind's ease in some ways but not nearly so ... effective.

"And you have other jobs to do as well. You are getting better." It was scant praise from a crazy woman, who was still eyeing them speculatively. "When you're done, come find me."

They'd have to make certain that they weren't finished a moment too soon, either.

Perseus rose unsteadily and glanced back at her before moving towards Draco with a steady stride that belied how shaken he must be. Draco didn't reach for him, only turned and began to walk forwards, abandoning the room for the dubious safety of the hallway. They walked quietly side by side, both antsy and glancing around in the hopes of avoiding any of the Death Eaters who seemed to have taken up residence at Malfoy Manor.

His home was like a Death Eater hotel, which had turned his mother into something like a hostess, and he never wanted to complete that thought. He wasn't going to, he was just going to walk beside Perseus and keep his jaw shut tightly as they made their way to the first door that gave them a way out to the gardens. Mostly no one went out there to bask in the sun, and it was a small relief. It meant that they had time alone, time to be quiet or angry or almost anything. Draco had spent half an hour one afternoon having a temper tantrum of epic proportions and no one had heard a thing.

The door shut behind them once they were in the potions laboratory, and it was something like permission to relax, let reactions have sway. They were still Slytherins, though, and so Draco only said, "I'll check the Veritaserum."

Perseus hunched his shoulders a little, and exhaled, not really reacting, but more like he was steeling himself. "Thank you. I'll bring the temperature up on the other." He didn't want to talk about what Draco had seen any more than Draco wanted to talk about what happened to him, and neither of them dared to think about what might be coming that night or the next day or the next day.

There was nothing to do but exist in the moment, quiet and awkward and stiff, uncomfortable until Perseus came over towards him to check the texture of the Veritaserum for himself. "Should I get tea sent in?"

Tea was iffy on the days Bellatrix decided to give lessons. At least the Dark Lord was honest in his perversions; Draco's aunt liked to pretend she was being charming when she was a complete cow.

"All right." They might as well. Most times these days, neither of them bothered with supper. Draco figured it was generally a better idea not to puke while being buggered by a man who could kill him as soon as look at him.

He'd asked his mother once why the Dark Lord did it. There were so many reasons, really, but the funniest was that he didn't want to sully Pureblood witches who were bound for the sanctity of marriage. Apparently the Mudblood ones were too filthy to bother dirtying his cock. Evidently pureblood boys were just right, particularly when the father of those pureblood boys were cock-ups, and disgraced in the eyes of the Dark Lord. All Draco could hope was that he'd get tired of it and not kill him when he did. It was horrifying and he didn't talk about it, but Perseus was there to pick up the pieces and hold him together until Draco was closer to holding himself together.

Perseus stirred for a moment more, then broke away to summon a house-elf for tea. The Veritaserum really just needed to cool, and the draught of peace was going well. He really ran a very well timed lab, even with Bellatrix's interruptions. Possibly because of them, with time stopping charms at the ready at all times.

Having someone else present seemed to make things better. That or not being completely fucked up on potions, although that certainly had its place in their everyday lives. Having someone supremely capable didn't hurt anything, either.

Draco gave one last stir to the concoction in his cauldron and allowed a bitter smile to cross his lips. Funnily enough, he thought Professor Snape would have been awfully proud of him, of both of them. Draco had screwed up a few things, but he had gotten a great deal better at potions this summer. If he survived, maybe he could build on it.

Tea arrived when Perseus was bottling, so he waved at Draco to start eating while he finished his task -- bottling, labeling the contents, the date and the time of completion. It was very familiar, a useful pattern, like when he'd helped Severus and then Professor Slughorn making potions for the Mediwitches at Hogwarts. It seemed to be standard practice for potions masters, professional or budding.

"We should start a countdown to when we return to Hogwarts."

Yes, well. It wouldn't be soon enough. Not even close, really. "All right." Draco had no idea of the date; he hadn't thought to ask, and he was fairly certain a couple of weeks had gone right out of his head. Settling at the small transfigured table near the window, he began pouring tea and went ahead and fixed Perseus's as he liked it -- too sweet for Draco's taste, but it was nice to kiss the sugar off of his lips. Not that he'd done that in some time, but he remembered.

He remembered, and he could maybe do it again. Perseus had done nothing but linger close to him, hold him, press his mouth against Draco's cheekbones, and keep repairing his wounds. "Five weeks," Perseus offered. "Not long at all, is it?"

Not long, except it was a complete bloody long forever, and Draco lifted a biscuit and nibbled at it, watching as Perseus finished off the bottling. "No." It was good, chocolate and oatmeal and cherries, and he rather thought that Perseus would like them even more than he did. "If we get to go back." It wasn't a thought he had wanted to voice, only it had seemed to come from the depths of him, a fear that couldn't be held behind his teeth anymore.

"Mmm." He was afraid of that as well, then. "We may be more useful being allowed to return. I hope that's so." He closed his eyes, and set the bottles aside carefully, opening them again before he walked past the work bench to get a biscuit as well.

Draco couldn't look at him. "What if we aren't?" He didn't think they could keep doing this. _He_ couldn't keep doing this. He was numb and fucked up and things weren't good for either of them. They were both compartmentalizing too much, or maybe not enough, and he worried that they would fall apart before it was all over and done.

He worried that whatever it was Perseus was hiding would become obvious if that happened, and if it did.. oh, if it did, that would be very bad. He didn't know, and he didn't want to know.

"I don't know. We'll, I'll think of something." The idea shook Perseus, he could tell. He took a bite of his cookie, and sank down to sit on the floor. "I'd just as soon not contemplate it."

Neither would he, and Draco leaned forward and lifted Perseus's cup and saucer, handing it to him. "Then let's not. After all, denial is working fairly well for me at this particular moment."

Perseus lifted the cup in a mockery of a toast. "To denial, then."

"Denial," Draco agreed, and they sat there quietly, enjoying the silence and the lack of anyone else's presence.

After all, neither of them was about to harm the other. So it was a bit like safety, munching and drinking until the door came open.

Rosier.

Merlin on Dallben's hopped up broomstick, his aunt was a satanic sadistic bitch. His grandmother Black had been a horrifying witch, so much so that his mother had long since relegated her portrait to the cottage in Cornwall in the hopes that she would get all of her screaming and moaning out there. It was reasonable to believe it was in the blood, as well, because she'd been a Rosier before she had married Grandfather Black.

He watched Perseus go still, and then take a sip of his tea. "Hello. We've just finished the brewing His Lordship asked for." Calm and smooth, that was how Perseus pretended to be at all times, never raising his mellow, rusty-sounding voice. It made Draco wonder whether it had been potions or magic that had caused that damage.

One day, he'd have some sort of power somehow. Even if he had to steal it from somewhere. He might not ask Perseus what had happened, but he would find a way to do something about it all the same.

"It's good that you're finished, then. He's asking for you, boy." He nodded his head at Draco, and fuck. Fuck, they should have had more time, they hadn't... he hadn't taken the potion yet, and that meant it was going to be a very long, very bad night.

Perseus stood up from the floor, finishing his tea. "I'll bring in the potions. We'll be in right away. Draco, can you help me with the second tray?"

He stood, wishing he'd not bothered with tea. "Yes, Perseus."

Yes, and Rosier just stood there, the complete bastard, watching both of them as they readied their trays, settled bottled potions on the trays. He wondered that the adult Death Eaters were such bloody terrible potioneers, but then, they'd always had the professor to do their brewing before they killed him. They'd gotten lazy and reliant, and now Perseus did the work for them.

Rosier followed them into the house, followed them to the room where they put the potions trays for use. He could feel Perseus's tension, his own tension, and maybe he was finally going to fall apart and neither of them would recover. He hadn't had to feel anything in a long time. He didn't want to feel anything. It was too much, even the first night he hadn't... but there was nothing to do about it, nothing at all, and so they began laying things out the way the Dark Lord would expect, and if he found himself standing too close to Perseus, well. It couldn't be helped.

He was shaky and a little desperate feeling. Perseus leaned against his shoulder for a moment, and Rosier laughed unpleasantly behind him. "That's enough. You're wanted, boys. Take Veritaserum up with you."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it wasn't unexpected, but it was certainly unnerving. The idea of it unmanned him completely, and when Rosier laughed again and set his hand between Perseus's shoulder blades and pushed, Draco wanted very badly to kill him. Instead, he caught Perseus's wrist and pulled him along, helping him to catch his balance and probably annoying the piss out of his cousin. First, fourth, seventh thrice removed, whatever. He was too related to all of them, and it sent his spine up tight that Rosier had done that to Perseus, left him with tangled up memories at too young an age for it to make any sense at all. Not that he was making any better sense of it now, while they walked up the stairs side by side, with Perseus clutching a bottle of Veritaserum. "Well. I suppose I've been expecting this."

For a second, Draco seriously considered his options. Earnestly thought about them, and he made a decision, fumbling out to grasp Perseus's hand for just a moment. "Let me do most of the talking. If he..." If he gave it to both of them, there would be at least the opportunity for him to run his mouth and shut off some of whatever Perseus would say.

Just in case.

"Right. I think I will." Perseus grimaced a little, still holding the bottle. The fresh brew would need to sit for a month, but there was the older stockpile that he'd been made to produce when he'd arrived, and Draco supposed it was time for testing.

It was only natural the potioneer should be the test subject of the earliest concoctions, lacking Squibs or Mudbloods upon which to force it. Carefully, he tugged Perseus up the stairs and reluctantly began the trip down to the Silver Chamber. "It's all right." It wasn't. It was nothing like all right, it was exactly the opposite of all right, but that was what people said when things went straight to hell, wasn't it? That it was all right. That it would be all right, that everything would be just fine.

Perseus said just that quite a lot.

They hesitated just outside the door, until it swung open, and he saw the Dark Lord rising from the edge of the bed, smile curling across his mouth. "Both of you, come in." Three steps inside, and the door shut fast, all on its own.

Draco wasn't sure he had been that scared since the first night. Afraid and shaken and barely able to keep his knees from shaking their way right out from underneath him. "My lord."

He was observing them both, peering at them, and then he nodded, reaching to take the Veritaserum. "Disrobe yourselves. And then put out your tongues." Three drops, that was all that was needed. Perseus had brewed buckets of it -- worth its weight in gold if it worked, and it would. Draco had assisted him along the way, he knew that it was going to work.

By now, disrobing was fairly customary. His fingers unfastened all of the buttons and catches on their own, and even without any sort of assistance, his mind seemed to be separating itself off into a nicely cordoned off area, all tied up with a neat box top and pretty bow.

Huh.

Perseus was undressing across from him, and he was no more shy about it than he ever was. He halfway folded his things, and then stuck his tongue out only after Draco had done the same. It was best to think that way, just to wait for the inevitable, the Dark Lord too close and the bleached bones and dry grass smell lingering at the edge of his nose when he felt the damp hit his tongue.

Ugh. It was a horrible taste, bitter and it made him shiver, shudder, twitch and break out in goose flesh all over. That couldn't be attractive, he supposed, and when his arm brushed Perseus's, he looked over at him.

Perseus's face was scrunched up tight, just for a moment, and then his posture relaxed, even as they were still being circled. "Both of you, on the bed."

Carefully, Draco took his hand and tugged at him, drawing him along. The Veritaserum made him want to talk, want to say everything, all sorts of things. Instead, he only murmured, "It's everything but all right. But come with me."

Being watched like that, while they walked, and Perseus sat down beside him, almost shaking with trying to keep quiet. "Beautiful boys. Every night, you fix Draco's injuries, young Mr. Averis. Why?"

The fight he put up was visible, a struggle. He fought it and failed even as his fingers squeezed Draco's. "I love him."

"And you seem to think this sentiment should hold some sway over my actions. It does not. Draco, tell me about your friend here."

Licking his lips, Draco tilted his chin and opened his mouth to let it all fall out, unfiltered. "He walked up during the professor's funeral pyre. Professor Snape, when he... when he was delivered to Hogwarts. And then he was sorted Slytherin, and he'd done things, and he was stupid enough to spill to a lot of idiotic Gryffindors about it. So I had to, I said things. Because we're Slytherins and none of them care for us, they think we're all a lot of selfish prats, every last one of us, so nothing you say to them matters at all because..." Because he couldn't think at all. "And then we tricked them and made them think all sorts of things, and he kissed me and I liked it. And I liked it when you touched me, liked it all, and we..."

Perseus's fingers clutched his hand tight for a moment.

"And you didn't get very far, yes. Sorting into a Hogwarts house so very late. Isn't that interesting to you at all? However did you do it, boy?"

"I had my letter, I had my letter and I finally went. I, my father had visited me in the spring, he tried to get me off the drugs, the potions, and I, it worked and it didn't work, and then it did, finally, and by the time I was clear enough he was dead. All the work to get there finally didn't do me any good, except classes are good, and Draco." Draco, Draco Draco.

A thrum of noise in his head and on his tongue, not quite Legilimens but a touch of it, a sound, and he gasped. "And, and it was so sweet, so sweet, and I wanted, and then Father..." Father, what a complete disaster, an utter abomination of what reality should have been. "And I couldn't think, couldn't do anything, and Vincent and Gregory had no idea what to say, nor Pansy, nor anyone, really, expect Perseus and he said not a thing, which was perfect. Which was right, because I didn't want anyone to say anything, because what good would it do? None at all, and I didn't care about the dubitable potions or his parents or anything because if he'd been on Knockturn he would have had to be at least Half-blood and probably a great deal more, and..."

Fingers scraped lightly along the line of his jaw, but he didn't address Draco. "Perseus, who were your parents?" It was all very important to Voldemort, who was who and what was what in the world, where everyone stood, sorting and placing people.

"Severus Snape, and my mother was Marlena. She had red hair. I don't know her last name. We lived in Knockturn, and then she went away." He slapped his free hand over his mouth after that.

"Shh, shhh." The Dark Lord would probably get him for that later, but he cupped his hand against Perseus's jaw, caressing over it. "Don't. Don't, it hurts, don't." And he wasn't going to think about the professor being his father, or redheads, because oh god, what if it was a Weasley? His father had sworn they were contagious, and Draco was utterly certain that they had fleas.

He was mostly sure Perseus didn't have fleas, but that was out of exclusion and long contact with him. "I see. That makes much more sense than that some little Knockturn whore stumbled to Hogwarts unaided. Red hair is not at all a surprise..." He was looking at them both, probably gauging what best to wring from them unawares. "Tell me, do you enjoy your time with one another?"

Perseus lowered his own hand, exhaling a little unevenly. "Yes. A lot. Draco's a prefect and I get jealous of the time he spends with it, but watching Quidditch is great."

"Fantastic, even." Was Veritaserum supposed to make someone feel this way? Drifty-strange, and distant, and all sorts of truthful, saying things he hadn't ought to say, touching Perseus like he hadn't ought to touch. "But someone's got to take points away from those bloody Gryffindors, although Umbridge was a hateful old bitch even in spite of her docking them without mercy. Shame she didn't die in the Forest, really."

Well, that sounded bloodthirsty enough to suit anyone, didn't it, then?

Perseus gave a cold shiver. "Shitty teacher. Punishments were bizarre, but she was horrible at teaching. I didn't learn anything, and look how far I've already gotten!"

"Yes, look at how far. You've found yourself a little influential friend, and you have all of your father's talent. Let's hope you have none of his talent for betrayal. Draco, would you like to fuck your friend here, or be fucked by him?"

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god, and maybe he was saying it then, horrified and he didn't know the answer. Clearly that was enough to throw the Veritaserum for a loop, because nothing would come out of his mouth. "That. It's. I..."

"Fuck him or be fucked by him," was the quiet, frightening repetition. "Which do you prefer? If you don't want anything to do with him, I can see to that as well."

No, no, that was... "Whichever. Whatever." But he didn't know what to do or how to put it all together, and more than anything he wanted to... but he wasn't going to think, he was going to keep touching Perseus and asking him what he wanted with his eyes because Draco didn't know what else to do.

Perseus's mouth was clenched tight, as if he didn't dare say whatever he was thinking, and that was all right, but he didn't know what to do. "Then I'll decide. Take him, while I watch. Now."

Now, but he didn't know where to start. Hadn't known, maybe, but still didn't because the things the Dark Lord had done to him were nothing like he would want to do someone else, and especially not Perseus. He was never going to think about the professor being his father because some things were beyond what he could think about ever.

Just. Ever.

Perseus closed his eyes for a moment and then he shifted overtop of Draco in a tangle of motion. "It's okay, just pretend it’s just us, it's fine." He'd never really thought those funny honest assurances were true until then. His friend was clearly insane, because what was fine about this? Draco was half tempted to say so, and he opened his mouth to let it out only to be stopped by lips on his, kissing him senseless... or at least quiet, which was a good thing for the moment.

They were already naked, so that cut out a lot of what Draco was used to, reduced it down to Perseus's hands on his arms, his shoulders, touching and stroking soothingly while he kissed him. Draco could still smell the Dark Lord near, couldn't break his mind free of the moment to do anything other than note every piece. He was too alert, and he wanted to cry because it wasn't how he'd wanted to do it and he still didn't know how to do it best.

In short order, it became clear that they were both going to have a problem, the sort of thing that made young witches titter and older wizards ask for potions in a hiss over the counter. They were kissing, true, and it felt nice, also true, but neither of them seemed to be getting hard so much as enjoying the false sense of comfort. His hand was rubbing between Perseus's shoulder where Rosier had touched him, and Draco slid his knee between those thighs and began to rub slowly in the hope that they'd manage somehow.

"I didn't think a whore could have that problem." Perseus tensed, and he rocked down against Draco's knee, whimpering. "Your father never had a problem. I think he died with an erection."

"Oh, Merlin, Merlin, please stop talking, please..." Draco felt the muscles of Perseus's back shake beneath his palm, his shoulders shuddering.

"Shhhh." Shhh, because that was all he could say, and he rolled them both, getting Perseus beneath him. The Dark Lord always liked it if his chosen bedmate enjoyed things despite what was being done to them. Sometimes there were potions, sometimes Draco went to his room black and blue and red all over if he couldn't manage it, and panic welled upwards. He had to, had to, had to, and he rocked down at Perseus from atop him, determined. Had to.

Had to.

There was just a moment where Perseus looked hysterical, and then Draco was kissing him, and he began to touch Draco back, started to idle a hand down to his hip. Maybe it was the Veritaserum and having to be true and honest that was making it harder for Perseus, and easier for Draco to detach. He knew he had to or they would both regret it, so he shifted his hips to line his dick up against Perseus's, rocking until anxious breaths turned into groans.

The Dark Lord's hand idled against Draco's back, too near to pretend he wasn't there. The sharp tips of his nails drew along his spine, and his breath hitched hard before he shoved that in a thought-box, too. Perseus. Kissing Perseus, and he groaned, tongue tentative and twining, and if he could just keep himself where he was, it was all right. Thought boxes, mind palace, this would have a place in it eventually, one of those things it was important to realize.

When he pulled back, wondering what to do, what spell, what to use, Perseus groaned, hardly letting him pull back at all. "Draco. Here, I'll..." He could let Perseus figure it out, yes, that was probably the better choice.

"All right." Okay because they were doing this no matter what, and his mind was a jumble of things. Of Perseus, of kissing, of sweetness untainted by the sharp sting of nails on his shoulder blade, the tickle of blood. It was so difficult when the bleeding started, and the world went funny at the edges. Whether it was Veritaserum or just his mind protecting itself, Draco neither knew nor cared.

He was mostly just grateful for it, and unaware of what Perseus was doing because one long-nailed finger was stroking at the edge of his asshole. He shivered, and Perseus kissed him again, and Draco felt a hand on his dick, stroking him. "Here, just kneel between my legs."

Between his knees, and Draco swallowed hard, making a sound that had no definition whatever; a yes, a no, an expression of he didn't even know what, but Perseus was looking at him with those eyes, and he was going to look at him and... He didn't know. Didn't know, but Perseus shifted him, and he was slipping close and nearly in, and he was slick, and Draco shuddered and gave that sound again, the noise of it breaking in the middle in something like a sob.

"Draco." Perseus shifted, his hands on Draco's hips, pulling him in closer, positioning Draco and then he was finally pushing inside. "Uhn, huh, been a while."

He was so hot, and seemed to suck Draco in all the way, and he hiccoughed, hunching over, forehead resting on that warm shoulder, entire body shaking with the force of what they were doing, what _he_ was doing, and he couldn't stop himself from sobbing. "I, I..." Couldn't think. Couldn't, and the Dark Lord was prying him open from behind, making him mewl with fear.

Perseus wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and lifted his hips a bit, just a little motion that still made Draco shiver, a good shiver, but he didn't know what to do with the feeling of two fingers sliding into his ass, to the feeling of fingers idling against his ass cheeks.

"Good. Now, start fucking him."

Fucking him. So funny, because he had thought about this. Before. Before his fa... No, he wasn't going to think about that either. There was a silver-traced rose in the center of the headboard, and Draco concentrated on it completely as he began to shift, slow, steady. This wouldn't, couldn't, last. Too hot, too much, too... too. Too, and those fingers in him made it all so... so. So much, too much, because he was being invaded with them every time he moved his hips backwards, and then they pulled out, a mockery of fucking while he started finally to thrust into Perseus. Perseus seemed just to hang on, stroking Draco, maybe enjoying it a little. He would have to look to see, and it was easier to focus on the headboard while he felt the sensations instead. It was all right, Perseus was right. He did mean it. Draco meant it, because it was. It had to be, and he gasped for breath, blinking rapidly and shuddering with the force of it. Pleasure despite everything, despite the agony of those fingers and their sharp nails. He had suffered worse than that, surely he could bear this.

Just that, just that, he thought, and he started to pull back a little, even though it felt safe. He felt the bed shift behind him, an impatient noise. Fingers pulled out, and he knew what was coming. He wished he wasn't looking at Perseus's expression, that he didn't feel the Dark Lord's chest pressing against his own back, didn't feel arms frame his body from behind while he...

He didn't slide into Draco at all, but Perseus was howling, his hips pulled up leaving Draco sandwiched between them. "Yes, stay just like that."

Dallben, _no_. No, no, no, and he couldn't stop the gasping or the sudden wash of tears as his hands clenched tightly on Perseus's upper arms. No, no, no, no, no, and then the Dark Lord was against him, trying to push into the same place, and it wasn't going to work. Wasn't going to, because how could it? He was shifted, moved, pushed further up, and he was going soft with the sickening nausea of realization.

Draco was up high on his knees, and the Dark Lord's legs were between his, and Perseus was crunched up onto his shoulders and neck. It seemed impossible, but Draco felt the hard length slide in beneath his cock, while he just tried to balance, tried not to move, tried not to lean on Perseus even as the Dark Lord leaned in, pushing him in closer.

Perseus was crying, and it was very hard to put that picture into a box. It was hard not to scream, because if he ever started then he wouldn't stop.

The Dark Lord was jarring them, and if it hurt Draco it had to be killing Perseus. Had to be, and if this ended with both of them alive it would be some kind of miracle. He was shivering and off-balance and Perseus was _crying_ and Draco loved him so much that it killed him. Maybe he was saying it, swearing it, begging incoherently, because he knew he was talking. He just didn't know what was spilling out, beyond his control, while the Dark Lord thrust and thrust and thrust, saying things, making pleased noises, as if their reactions were making him hotter than any feigned enjoyment Draco had dredged up so far. His cock ached, and he was half hard and not hard at all, or maybe it was just all pain. He wasn't entirely tracking it all, and if they were very lucky Perseus wasn't either.

Reaching out, he stroked tears away with his thumb but they kept coming back, spilling over with disturbing regularity, and Draco hurt, hurt, hurt, and Perseus was in agony beneath him and he couldn't seem to make sense of any of it. None at all, and he wondered if there had been something else in the Veritaserum or if he was losing his mind finally.

He only noticed when the Dark lord stopped for the sudden easing of pain, for the shifting of his body, the Dark Lord pulling back and taking Draco with him, leaving Perseus to sprawl on the bed. His chest was heaving, and there were claw marks on his skin, and his one leg didn't look right at the hip. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, still held back to the Dark Lord’s chest. "Lovely, isn't it? I think I can keep at this all evening, back and forth between you both. Did you enjoy that, Draco?"

No. God no, but all he could do was sob, body bowed with it even where he was held. That wasn't going to lead anywhere good, only he couldn't seem to stop it.

He couldn't stop anything at all.

* * *

  
He wasn't sure how he'd managed to walk back to Draco's rooms, how either of them had gotten there. His hips were still screaming at him, and he was sure one leg was partially dislocated, but everything was swelling and blood and he didn't know where to start in treating either himself or Draco.

It was easier just to lie there, and hope the bathtub turned itself on and walked over to them. That would've been nice. Unfortunately, nice wasn't anything like they seemed to be getting lately and so Draco pulled him up from the floor, hands so gentle as if he could make up for how they both felt at the moment.. He turned on the water and the bubbles and then turned to Perseus.

He hadn't said anything for quite a while, and there was a look in his eyes that made him afraid. His hands were gentle, though, tugging at the robes Perseus wore, dropping the remains of their clothing in a pile on the floor for the house-elves. "Draco." He had to say something, finally, even if his throat hurt and he wasn't even very sure about any of the excess breathing that went with talking.

"Mmm." As if that were any sort of answer. He had his hand on Perseus's elbow, and he was herding him closer to the tub.

It hurt to move, but he didn't hiss or grimace too much as he shuffled to the tub. Getting in hurt, meant more movement than he wanted, but the water was warm and soothing except for where it made open wounds burn. "Please say something."

Instead, he crawled into the tub behind Perseus and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him back to rest against his chest. Draco's pointy chin rested on his shoulder, an additional ache to which he didn't object. His hand rested against his diaphragm, and for a long moment it seemed as if he wouldn't speak at all. When he did, it was for a single word only. "Okay."

It was enough to make Perseus start to laugh hysterically. He didn't, but he inhaled, and tried to think of what to do about his hips. "Hnh. How're you?"

Same as him, he supposed, but Draco had pulled back sometime during the long night, worse than the mind's ease had done, and that made him afraid. It took a while for him to get any sort of answer, and that frightened him, too. "Hm. 'm okay." A long pause, and Draco began to wash him spasmodically, hands starting and stopping and strange. "Been worse."

He inhaled, and exhaled, a slow motion that was marked by Draco's hands spasming. "I'm sorry." He was, that any of it had happened, that their roles were a little reversed.

That they were so screwed up. He had meant to offer himself in Draco's place, not _offer himself_ , there being a vast difference. "There're potions. In the other room." And their wands, too, but they were in no condition to be casting any sorts of spells on one another, not really.

"Mmhm." He didn't need his wand. He just needed to focus, he needed to think about how to fix himself. Because that was how it was going to go, that it was the two of them for themselves and no one else cared. No one else gave a damn, because they were taking Voldemort's ire off of the rest of them.

Living, breathing sacrifices. Perseus closed his eyes, and slouched a little more into the water, his legs screaming at him. "I think I can fix this."

"Hmm." Draco continued washing him with his hands, rubbing slowly over the places that were mostly all right, only lightly skipping over the ones that weren't.

The sound of the bedroom door opening came, and they both went silent and still.

He honestly couldn't take another round, couldn't take if Rosier had decided to wait and see if he could have a go, couldn't. Couldn't, and he didn't have his wand, and while wandless magic was good for desperate urgent and frivolous things, it wasn't good for casting the killing curse.

"Draco?"

The violent release of breath beside his ear was one he echoed, and Draco panted for a moment with the relief before he could call out to her. "In here, Mother." With both of them naked as the day they were born, that should have been humiliating. At the moment, he thought they were likely injured to the point where it simply didn't matter anymore.

There was nothing sensual about it, the both of them in the tub, because Perseus was trying not to breathe for the pain, except that Draco was too quiet not to keep trying to goad. He watched Narcissa as she came in, watched her facial expression change. It spoke to their state, even more so when she automatically took her wand in hand.

"Sweetheart. Can you get out of the tub?" He was sure that was addressed to Draco, but then she reached out and gently touched his arm. "Stay still, Draco. I'll get you in a moment."

It was possible that getting into the tub had been a bad idea, because it took him too long to stand up even with Draco trying to steady him. It hurt like fire, like Cruciatus, which he knew too well, so he was panting by the time he was standing up and stepped out of the tub, bone grinding against bone in all of the wrong ways. He supposed he was lucky that it hurt the worst, because it masked over all the other pains.

She began casting as soon as he was out and stable, if not altogether correct. _Episkey_ and _Ferula_ and _Tergeo_ , blue eyes peering at him over every inch. There was a gash over his hip that was bad enough that he had thought he would bleed to death from it, but it had stopped finally when Draco laid a hand on him while the Dark Lord buggered him and made him suck Perseus's cock, never mind that it was soft.

It hurt, it still hurt, but when she was done he felt a little less like he might just die from it, a little more like he could stand up and stay standing. He'd really just recovered from never wanting to think about sex again, and now Perseus was back there, well back there. He'd always wanted time with Draco to be something they chose, easy and lazy.

Nothing like this. Never anything like this.

"Come with me, sweetheart." She was being so gentle, so easy. His own mother hadn't been that nice, and he had to gulp, take a deep breath because that thought hurt. "Draco, I will return immediately. Wait until I come to help you."

He moved, as fast as he could, as painlessly as he could manage, and he started forward. They could sleep, and he wanted to sleep, wanted to sleep without pain, never mind that the morning was already there soon and there were other things he needed to do. He hurt and the night had lasted forever. The Dark Lord had seemed to delight in the fact that they cared for one another, and that had made it all the worse.

"Lie down," Narcissa directed, using her wand to help him into the bed. "And tell me where your potions are; I know you'll have them."

That she was using her wand was almost a relief. "That closet." He gestured over to it, and wondered if he could _Accio_ wand and have it come to him from where it was on the floor. It turned out to be a moot point, as Draco's mother gathered both of their wands on her way to the closet, peering through it quickly and pulling out the potions that were lined up neatly along the wall in front of Draco's shoes. He had asked Draco how many pairs of shoes he needed once, and gotten a look that stated he clearly had no understanding of the importance of shoes.

Perhaps it was genetic.

He stretched one arm out on the bed because he could, because it didn't hurt to move that arm, and wondered what she would do. Wondered if he should say something else. The Veritaserum had already worn off, so he could say whatever he liked if he could focus hard enough. "Lucius wouldn't have put up with this."

Oh, fuck.

He was better at making it than he'd remembered.

Her face gave nothing away as she tilted a bottle to his lips, letting the elixir slide past his lips and over his tongue. "You must be very, very careful. You must, because if you bring Draco down with you...."

"I think we're already 'down'. I think when you're sucking off the Dark Lord, we're already as far down as things go." He hissed it, tense, swallowing in between words and oh god, he was scared and hurting and at least he trusted his own concoctions enough to know he wasn't going to die.

Narcissa handed him his wand and looked him in the eye. "Can you cast?" Because clearly it was a great deal better if she forgot what he had said. It was also clear from her lack of reaction that perhaps she had already suspected somewhat. He wondered what her lack of objection to him as Draco's companion meant. "After I've put Draco to bed, you understand?"

"Yes." He understood very well, and instead focused on the fact that his hips still hurt, and his ass still hurt, but he was mostly sure he wasn't going to die.

Narcissa left him then, only patting his hand lightly before she returned to the bathroom. He could hear them moving, could hear the water slosh and the sound of words, the feel of magic washing outwards. They were in there together for quite some time, to the point at which he had halfway dozed off before he felt the bed dip, felt the covers pulled up over him and Draco both. He opened his eyes and watched as Narcissa leaned down and pressed her lips to Draco's temple, and he realized that he was familiar with the stiff motions, the way she seemed to move carefully.

None of them were in particularly good shape, damn Lucius Malfoy for the fool he was.

"There, sweetheart. Close your eyes, yes." Yes, and she cast a minor sleeping spell before looking across at him. "Are you still awake?"

"I'm sorry." Sorry that he couldn't do any better, sorry that he was going to have to use a spell to modify her memories. It took him a quick wave of his wand to cast _Obliviate_ , and then he tucked the wand beneath his pillow. It knocked the wind out of her, and she seemed to stumble, one hand going dazedly to the post of the bed before she caught herself and shook her head, clearly confused.

Easier to keep his eyes closed. It would rear its head again, likely, because he couldn't remove the suspicion from her, but he could curl into Draco and wish he'd been spelled to sleep as well.

* * *

  
Four weeks had passed so slowly that Draco had wondered if they had somehow been caught up in time-turner magic, making time pass infinitely slowly by jerking them further back in the day in some way. He knew better, of course, but knowing better and _believing_ were completely separate issues altogether.

The worst part was that if it weren't for the steady growth of tiny spidery scars on both of them, Draco wasn't sure he would have believed some of what had happened, either the length or the frequency or the damned snake. They were standing all right and he and Perseus were presentable for travel through Diagon Alley, dressed smartly. It was one of the few things he enjoyed anymore.

They were going to be allowed to return to Hogwarts, and Draco was nearly sick with relief. He had a feeling there was going to be a catch to it, but right at the moment it was better not to think about it at all. They both needed new robes and uniforms; he had gotten taller and thinner, and Perseus had as well. Then again, who wouldn't, all things considered?

Perseus still loitered too close to him in public, enough that they'd gotten light remarks at Twilfitt and Tatting's. There was a new standard book of spells to buy, and advanced potions making, which Perseus had flipped through boredly, and a new transfiguration text.

Potions would be miserably boring this year. It was just as well, because Draco was desperately afraid that they were only allowed to return to school for some sort of ulterior motive. Lessons with Bellatrix had been a special sort of hell, but he had reached the point where he could pick up on things she didn't want him to know if he was very, very careful, and there was some secret glee at the core of her, something that would likely make him sick to consider.

If Bellatrix seemed happy, then Draco generally knew he wasn't going to be.

"So, where are we headed now?" In a trailing line of Death Eaters, which Draco suspected looked very suspicious.

"Borgin and Burkes, I think." Narcissa was ahead of them, and she glanced back now and again to be sure that they were still close to her. They hadn't tried to leave her at all, even when Draco had seen Pansy and Blaise as they had passed Fortescue's. It was better to stay close.

He was afraid to step away, afraid to leave Perseus, or the other way around, because they did have safety in slightly larger numbers, and even more when they were shadowing Narcissa. At least for the moment. "Huh." There were interesting things in the shop, but Draco supposed there was some ulterior motive.

Everything these days involved an ulterior motive.

The last time he had been in Borgin and Burkes, he had been with his father. That gave him a particularly hard twist of emotion that made him swallow, his hand moving close enough to brush against Perseus's as they followed his mother inside.

It was a comfort. Their time, when they were left alone, was more often spent in quiet closeness, and potions making than anything else. Draco didn't think he could ever think about sex as something he was interested in, not ever again. Ever. And he wasn't going to think, about his father, about his mother, about anything.

"I always thought this was an interesting store."

Draco licked his lips, watching his mother's movements closely. "Yes. There are so many interesting things here." Cursed objects, the sorts of things a sneak thief would love to have. He had been such a child the last time he had been here, and he wished he still was. He didn't enjoy it, now. He didn't think he enjoyed anything, and he was mostly angry when he had the room to think about how he felt. Perseus's expression had lost the childlike wonder he expected from Perseus, shuttered and instead surveying the things around them as the door shut behind their little group. It wasn't until he saw other people coming in from different parts of the shop that he began to get properly nervous, his hands shaking even as he shoved them into his pockets. There was his aunt in her ridiculous golden ringletted disguise, her husband wrapped in the guise of a boy that had likely been the brother of the girl she looked like. He wondered vaguely if they wore the aspects when they weren't in public and nearly made himself ill for a moment.

Too much to think about.

Perseus bumped shoulder to shoulder with him, arms folded over his chest speculatively. "So, are we here for a purchase?"

Bellatrix practically bounced, a terrifying sight. "So to speak. Isn't that right, Mr. Borgin?"

"Yes." There was a dubious look in the man's eyes that Draco was surprised to see. Then it was gone, and he was leading them cheerfully enough towards the back of his store, where there were lamps lit almost invitingly. "Mrs... Druella said you were interested in a Vanishing Cabinet."

A Vanishing Cabinet? Why would... well, Draco could think of a dozen reasons, and if the damned thing let out on a beach somewhere in the south of France, he thought that they would quite like one indeed.

For so many reasons.

"And you have just such a thing?" Narcissa asked, pale in the shop's lighting.

"Yes. Yes, it's from the old times, of course, but it's fully functional."

But where did it go? There was always a set, always. That was the whole point -- a person vanished through, and then broke the Cabinet on the other side so no one else could follow.

A growl of voice came from behind them, and Draco felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as fear shook him to his toes. "And where's this one come out, then?"

"Rumor has it that the other one goes to Hogwarts. Except the matching half is broken. Nothing goes through." Hogwarts. It went to Hogwarts, broke through the wards and the rules about floos and Apparition that protected the school.

Oh. Merlin.

He knew why they were going back to school.

"And He wants you to fix it, Draco dumpling!" His mother's sister had her hands neatly folded together in their small white gloves, madness gleaming more than her excitement. "Isn't it marvelous? You might even be able to make up for Lucius's incompetence!"

His mother hissed, and Draco knew her fingers were undoubtedly tight upon her wand.

"Once it's found," Perseus offered, and yes. Finding things at Hogwarts could be hard, impossible. But they'd have to, before the year ended or Draco didn't think they'd be going back ever again. Or going anywhere ever again.

The way his aunt strode forward was bizarrely sexual and it made him nauseated. "Oh. We know exactly where it is, and He wants to tell you all about it, darling Draco. Perseus pet. Tonight."

Tonight, of course. Of course. Always tonight. Greyback laughed. "Well, get a look at it, and then work out what you'll need to do to fix 'er."

With their luck, Greyback would be the one waiting for them if they couldn't. He wanted so badly to reach out and take Perseus's hand, but there was sometimes a chasm between them, and sometimes not, and just at the moment he didn't dare. If either of them touched, they might both fall apart, and that would never do. "Yes."

He had a little room to focus as the others broke apart, as Perseus paced around the box and probably could already guess what their horrible new task was, though Draco wasn't stupid. Death Eaters in Hogwarts as a concept was simple and obvious and a wonderful thing for them if they could do it. It made him wish even more desperately for that beach in France. For that matter, he had heard that Brazil was quite nice this time of year. Still, he straightened his spine and raised his head, and when his mother reached out to take his hand, he allowed her to have it.

She led him around the box, explaining the history of it while Perseus peered at it and stared at it, and then opened it up and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

For one long moment, Draco thought he'd finally snapped. Thought he would open the door and Perseus would be gone, disappeared right in front of him, and his nerves drew together into vicious knots, his breath nearly stopping in his chest. Then the door opened again, and Perseus was still there, and he could breathe again.

"Oh, the other one's good and broken. Didn't even throw me into limbo." His arms weren't crossed over his chest, and he shut the Cabinet, looking over to Draco with a confused look, just for a flicker.

Bastard.

Utter, utter bastard, because he didn't know what he would do without him, and that made Draco furiously angry for a moment. He had stepped into a Cabinet that could have sent him bloody nowhere for forever, as if it meant nothing.

Bellatrix was nearly purring, glancing back and forth between them. "The Cabinet will remain here, Mr. Borgin. You understand?"

"Of course, Mrs... Druella." He inclined his head to them all. "Is there anything else I can show you?"

"That'll do." Greyback was smirking, sharp yellow teeth far too close for Draco's comfort. "I'll be back if it goes missin'."

"Of, of course. It'll be right here, right, anytime, day or night." He stuttered, stammered, and Perseus moved in closer to Draco finally, fingers brushing Draco's jacket sleeve almost in an apology.

He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to accept it. If he had... if he had.... But it was better not to think on it, not to consider it even the vaguest of possibilities. Instead, he notched up his chin sharply and pressed his lips together to keep from speaking.

"It's time." That was Rodolphus, and he sounded just as mad as Bellatrix.

Time to return to the manor, time to find out that evening what the plan was, with Perseus at his side. Time to take their new books and their new robes back home and pretend they were any kind of sane people preparing to go back to school for one of his last two years of learning.

Maybe there would be time. Maybe there would be opportunities. Maybe so many things, and when his aunt and uncle turned to walk away, Narcissa took one of each of their hands and tugged them along after her.

Back in their little train again, Draco supposed, trying not to look at the Vanishing Cabinet again or stare too angrily at Perseus. Madness, stepping into his possible death like that, _abandoning_ Draco.

Even he wasn't that mad, surely, hadn't been, and he knew he'd treaded that line too closely for words. All the way home, it was all he could think of, and he felt sick with it, deserted almost. Alone, even though he was no such thing. Perseus seemed to sense it, because he always did, and sat beside Draco on the carriage ride back, because the Floo system back at the Manor was for leaving only, and carefully guarded at that.

The trip took forever, his aunt and uncle madly going on and on about things, the glory of the Dark Lord, making certain their family fell among his list of favorites, doing everything they could to mitigate his father's failure. Draco closed his eyes finally, his head aching, and allowed himself to slip an infinitesimal amount closer to Perseus.

His father wasn't a failure. Professor Snape hadn't been a traitor. His mother wasn't weak. His aunt was insane, and the Dark Lord wasn't glorious. Draco didn't want to live in a world where that was all there was to his life, being hurt and having to work out where he was in the glory list. Everything had been better before. His life had been good, easy, before. He had always been given anything he wanted, he'd been allowed to poke Potter with sticks for his amusement, and there had been the professor and his father and... So many things.

They were drawing close to the Manor when he felt his mother stiffen at his side. "I don't recall there being a gathering planned."

"Oh yes. Yes, we think it's time to welcome our two newest members... properly." Two newest members? Perseus slunk down into the seat a little, knee pressing against Draco's.

"Oh."

Oh.

 _Fuck_.

Fuck, that was a panic-inducing thought, and Draco nearly flew to pieces. This... he had thought this was what he wanted, thought it was admirable, and he had been so very wrong.

He wanted nothing to do with it. He knew what they meant, the Mark on his father's arm, the Mark that had been on Professor Snape's arm, the one that had made his father start to clutch at his forearm through his jacket all through last summer. He wanted nothing to do with keeping the Dark Lord's bed warm and messy, wanted nothing to do with wiping out Muggles and Mudbloods because it wasn't worth it. Being superior should come naturally, should be part and parcel of who they were to the core. It shouldn't be because they had killed everyone who might object to their superiority. If that was what it took, it just made them murderers.

Thank God he had learned Occlumency so well, because otherwise he was sure Bellatrix would be trying to kill him where he sat. She just smiled at him, as he stacked boxes behind boxes and worked behind brick walls. Perseus was just sitting there as close as he dared to, but Draco was sure that whatever he was thinking was probably just as uncharitable.

He didn't want to get out of the carriage when it stopped.

"You'll want to get cleaned up and presentable!" Bellatrix was practically chirping, Rodolphus lurking behind her as they began to alight from the carriage. "Everyone will be here to witness it."

"Yes, ma'am." Perseus took the lead, finally reaching to grasp Draco's hand as if he could haul them both out of harm's way. Good robes, then, and Draco could just hope the Dark Mark didn't involve blood. Hope, and that was almost enough to set him laughing.

Hysteria probably wouldn't be viewed as a sign of proper respect. It was unfortunate that he was two steps away from it at the moment.

Narcissa gently laid her hand between his shoulders and he felt the faintest surge of magic, just enough to get him moving. It felt like a flow of numbness creeping up and over his shoulders, winding through him, and when she touched Perseus as well, he was grateful.

They both needed something, and Draught of Peace had its days, but it wouldn't do for some things, didn't mix well with potions they were given most days.

He was glad to take off towards the manor ahead of Bellatrix, to let his mother talk with her and Rodolphus.

Everything was brightly lit, people in shining robes everywhere, women wearing jewels. Many of them looked plastic with fear, the men beside them equally tense and uncertain. This wasn't what anyone had made it out to be, and he blinked that thought out of his head as they rapidly began to climb the stairs.

Hurry hurry, then, even with the lingering numbness tamping him down, warming his chest like Perseus's clutching fingers. "Best robes, where are your best robes, Draco?"

"Left of the wardrobe." More than one set, but they were too small now. He was a bloody awful tailor, magic or no magic, and they'd both look like idiots in too-short robes. The potions were there, too, and he knew that Perseus was thinking the same thing. "I'll try calling up a house-elf." New robes weren't meant to be delivered before morning, in any case, so it was the only option they had.

"I'll lay out everything." Make it quick and painless for the house-elves, at least, who hated being called on for mundanities like that after they had a houseful ordering them about.

Draco went about digging out the potions, lining them up, tiny phials of things hidden in shoes. He was sure that He had to know about them, but He seemed to find it amusing. Paranoia kept them checking to be sure they were, in fact, what they should have been, and they were. This time, at any rate. Next time they might not be.

Both of them were pale, movements jerky as they moved around the room, crossing paths and nearly running into one another repeatedly. It was a bloody damned mess. It wasn't how he wanted to live, scared and tense and falling apart all the time.

Finally, though he had had it done, and Perseus was waving him over. "Here, this should do. I'm sorry about earlier."

"You scared the shit out of me," Draco spat at him. He was angry at the reminder, angry at the world. "You fucking well don't get to abandon me and get scattered into fucking dust, do you hear?"

"I would've Apparated back. Probably only a little splinched." Perseus checked the potion, and offered Draco the first swig after he smelled it. "I wasn't thinking."

"No. You weren't." His nerves were completely overset by that as much as by anything else, because what would he do without him? When had he become so vitally necessary? He took a heavy swallow, downing half of the potion and then handing it back to Perseus.

Perseus kicked back the other half, and closed his eyes for a moment. "We're going back to school. It's enough. We'll make it." He always said it, and Draco wanted to slap him for it some days. "Robes."

Robes, because the house-elves were clearly much too frantic to pay attention to any summons. Draco was going to have them all closing their ears in the oven door for the next three days. "Robes," he agreed heavily through the growing lassitude, and he blinked at Perseus. "That wasn't Draught of Peace."

"Mind's ease," Perseus shrugged. "Half a dose, and I brewed it myself. I've kept it in reserve. I don't think tonight will be pleasant." Either in implication or act, and so he was bringing out the big armour, Draco supposed. Shame he didn't have a few dragons to toss in the mix, and he looked about for a moment, the walls doing that strange thing they did when the mind's ease came into play.

"Well," he said finally. "Better do something about those before we reach the point where we can't." Swish and flick, and if the hems were just a bit... off, well. No one would likely notice that much, considering they'd be getting great big whacking forearm art. How bright was that, really? A Mark that declared to the world, _here I am, Dark and into Death Eating, come and get me_? There was no hiding it except through long sleeves and lots of them, no masking the fact that it crawled and moved and everyone who had it seemed to feel when it went off. It probably hurt like buggery.

Everything else did.

"Thanks. I would've made them funny."

As if Draco had done any better. Still, it was something, and at least their current outfits were all right for them to wear under dress robes. He already felt dreamy and disconnected, and he reached out to touch the neckline on Perseus's, straightening it. There. Just right, and he had the same vague dreamy lassitude on his face that Draco probably had. They needed to wipe that right off before they went back downstairs.

Needed to pretend they were there and connected. Perseus leaned in, pressed a kiss against Draco's mouth, instead. "I love you."

Yes. Yes, and he reached out, pulled him in closer, and kissed him like he meant it, like it was the only thing in the world. It was as necessary as breathing, a little angry, a lot fucked up, and Merlin. Fuck. Yes. "Yes. I... yes."

It really was the only thing in the world. "We'll get through this together," Perseus murmured as Draco finally pulled away.

"Yeah." It was the only way to do it now. The only option they had, and he loved him. They were wrapped together in pain and misery and the most fucked up horrid situation imaginable, but he couldn't have made it through this without him. "Yes. We.... we should go."

"Going." Perseus took his hand again, and tugged. Draco started to steel himself, started to pretend to be more connected than he was, and it was disconcerting how much of reality the mind's ease took from a moment when he'd been off of it for so long. It was like the world was made of eddying swirls of water, sweeping off in any given direction with all of his concerns attached to them. Facing the Dark Lord this way would be worthy of punishment if he figured it out, so Draco shoved the thought of it back with all of the other things he was never, ever going to think about again, and got himself together at least a little. A very little, and if he was as flushed and glassy-eyed as Perseus was in that moment, they were clearly fucked.

Perseus nodded, and started for the door, knowing Draco would shadow him. He wasn't mistaken, either, because he moved into step with him, following closely behind until they were out of his suite of rooms and moving towards the stairs. His grandfather was in his portrait, glaring down at the first floor and the people milling about with a fury that ought to have set them all afire.

It didn't, even if Draco wished it could.

They moved through the gathered stiff and strained people looking for Narcissa, because she would know where to direct them, or pass them off to Bellatrix. The Dark Lord was holding court in the largest ballroom, looking satisfied with himself, Draco decided. If they were so out of favor, then why would he find it such a pleasure? Was punishing his father in Azkaban, who was unaware of the current situation, that interesting?

His mother seemed to appear from nowhere, taking his elbow and Perseus's and tugging them along with her. His father's study was quiet, and no one seemed at all interested in going in there.

So they went, Perseus doing a very good job of seeming alert. He was getting better and Draco hoped he was as well, though the mind's ease was something else entirely. "What now?"

Narcissa licked her dry lips. She was clearly not entirely herself, either. "Be very careful, my darling. Offer him respect. Offer anything he wants."

Draco understood what she meant by that -- anything that would keep them alive. "Yes, Mother."

"Yes, ma'am." Perseus was very good about offering anything and everything when he was in the mind for it; when he wasn't, he was angry, violent with his hatred of everything they were doing in a way that made Draco think things. He didn't want to think.

It was better if he kept his thoughts to himself and didn't speculate. Ever. "Do your best." That was meant for both of them, and she kissed them both on their foreheads. "I know both of you are very brave."

Draco didn't feel brave. There was nothing brave about bearing through it, there was nothing brave at all about doing anything to survive.

There was nothing brave about the way he flinched when the door opened, and Bellatrix peered into the room. "Draco dolly, it's your time to shine."

He didn't want to shine; he wanted to hide beneath the floor of the Green Diamond Room and never come out. It was entirely unfortunate that wasn't an option. "Yes, Aunt."

"You, too, baby Snape." Yes, that had gotten out and around and Draco very carefully didn't react or think about it as they fell into step towards the door. "Come, come, mustn't keep Him waiting."

As if either of them dared.

They fell into step side by side, and Draco snuck a glance at Perseus. He looked less dazed, so he could only hope that he did as well. It was funny, truth be told. The way his father had talked about it, receiving the Mark should have been a point of honor except no one who had them seemed pleased about it, omitting Bellatrix and a few others. He could see it as they moved through the crowd, the stiff unsure wizards and gloriously robed witches, echoing Draco's own discomfort.

It was good to know that he wasn't the only one who felt that way; Perseus sometimes seemed to have similar emotions or even more intense ones, and sometimes seemed supremely numb to what was happening to them. None of the people currently present seemed as if they could find that same numbness, and it made him feel less strange. Draco knew that he couldn't be brave, not truly, but he could at least survive. Survive the walk as they moved into the ballroom in step, the crowd parting around them.

Up towards the dais where the Dark Lord sat, where he started to stand. "Come. Come here, Draco Malfoy, Perseus Averis. Some of those in the audience know you -- others do not. These two have agreed to join your numbers, and have proven their worth through their servitude."

Or at least through their buggery, and the fact that they showed up again every evening and did not run, that they brewed potions how and when the Dark Lord told them to brew. Perseus went to one knee before the Dark Lord, and Draco followed a scant quarter second behind.

Honor Him, give Him homage, anything to survive. "My only hope for them is that they both surpass the accomplishments of their fathers. Truly they are honored to be here today. Give me your arms."

Perseus did, didn't hesitate, just leaned back a little bit and held up his arm, his head still down, and Draco followed suit.

The burning began almost immediately, vicious in a way that was entirely too familiar. He was sure that their lack of full response would make the Dark Lord angry, but he gritted his teeth viciously and thought of anything but that blazing agony.

Perseus groaned a little, head still bent down beside him. All Draco had to do was bear through it, while the magic burrowed into his skin, dipping in and out like a live creature was chewing through his skin to leave a burnt out trail that went all the way to the bone, making him let loose a shaky sound that was undeniable. he had to, _had_ to, and it was surely better than screaming, wasn't it? No matter how tempted he was, no matter how much he wanted to scream, and the taste of blood in his mouth from biting down hard on the inside of his lower lip was wickedly keen. Razor-sharp, and then it was over as suddenly as it had begun.

It stopped, faded to no more than a dull throb and a dull throb was bearable. "Stand, and greet your fellow Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy and Perseus Averis." Stand, when he was shaky, but Perseus was already to his feet and that hastened Draco, looking down at his arm, the skull with the snake through it.

Ugly.

It was a stain upon his skin that could never be erased, and a faint, throbbing nausea caught at him, made a hot wash of salt rise in his throat.

They were Marked.

They were _Marked_ , and surely it was because he would expect something from them. Draco was afraid to know exactly what because most of the things he expected thus far seemed to fall on the scale of difficult to impossible. Disappointment of those expectations was punished horribly. Like his father, abandoned to Azkaban.

There was clapping, something of a cheer in the crowd, growing slowly, uncertainly, and Draco agreed, yes, he was unsure as well. The Dark Lord put one hand on Draco's shoulder. "Go, mingle. Meet some of your new peers. Do what they tell you. I will see you when you are done."

Do what they were told. That seemed like a sickening thought, a horrid possibility altogether, particularly if Rosier was in the crowd. If he was, Draco rather thought that he might just kill him for the pleasure of it, for what he had done.

A light shove, and they were dismissed -- quite the moment, quite brief. Draco took a step down, and then another, Perseus at his side as Bellatrix smiled at them and then pushed past them with ease. Dismissed and done with. The crowd seemed so hesitant, and the anxiety was making Draco uneasy. Hell. Clearly they should have brought something down to slip into the punch if this was going to continue, and then Bellatrix raised her wand and cast a spell Draco didn't know, one that raced around the room in a swirl of blue-blue-blue, and it hit him like a dragon at full speed, a ripple of euphoria and pleasure that seemed to spill through every inch of him. Oh. It shuddered up his spine, and he almost startled, groaning when Perseus slid an arm over his shoulders. "Celebrate! Celebrate because we will run this country again!"

Draco blinked at the people there, who all seemed to burst into delighted response. Now it seemed exactly like a party, people laughing and drinking and eating, and his mad aunt was dancing on a table-top. It was insanity, purely and completely, and he wasn't at all sure what to think of it.

"Let's just keep moving, and circulate. Not linger too long anywhere. These things devolve into orgies." Perseus whispered that in his ear, pulling him towards a table laden with food and drinks. "Something to drink?"

"Please." He couldn't imagine that it would mix altogether well with the mind's ease, but it certainly couldn't make any of it worse.

The house-elves had outdone themselves -- cake and sandwiches, cookies and juice, champagne and some sort of punch which seemed to pack quite a punch from the people reeling away cup in hand. Draco snagged a flute of champagne and a sandwich and then promptly moved away from the table, glancing back to be sure that Perseus was with him.

Perseus had the punch and a couple of cookies, shadowing Draco. If they kept moving, none of the revelers would decide that a whore was a whore was a whore and try to hurt either of them, so it was really a very good tactic. Most of the revelers seemed content to laugh and just wave hello at them as if they were now fully adults, accepted as such despite the fact that they clearly had not been treated that way thus far. If they were lucky, perhaps they would manage to slip out for a while, hide somewhere comfortable and quiet and pass unnoticed. Draco tossed back the champagne quickly and then grabbed another from a floating tray before cutting a wandering path towards the dining hall. The kitchens might be relatively safe, he supposed, and honestly, who would think to search for them there?

No one except Bellatrix, and there would be enough traffic there that they wouldn't seem entirely unsocial. The crowd in the dining hall was thinner, and the kitchens were thinner still, which made Draco relax a little.

"Not bad at all."

Certainly not, and he turned to face Perseus, watching him sip at the punch. "I feel sure someone has loaded it with something spectacularly interesting. I wish you had avoided it." Just in case.

"Mmm. It's been a day for bad choices, then isn't it?" He took another sip, and leaned in to brush a kiss against Draco's mouth. "I'm so tired, and I'm tempted to sit under a table."

"If you like." Anything he liked, and there might have been something in the champagne, too, something effervescent and he glared down at it, feeling a certain amount of betrayal. Had they slipped something in every-bloody-thing or had it just been that spell, that blue whirl of energy?

Perseus's mouth curled up. "Well. What do you want to do?"

Go upstairs. Hide, curl against Perseus and kiss him, nothing more than kiss him, until they were both breathing quickly and pleasured, the sort of thing he remembered from their previous year together, nothing at all like their summer. Everything about them. "We could always continue into the gardens." Perhaps they could even slip into the potions laboratory, hide a bit more from the 'guests' who had overtaken the Manor.

"The gardens, then." Perseus took another swig of the punch, and shook his head a little. "Oh yes. That's an aphrodisiac. It's almost like grapefruit."

Draco glared at his champagne as if it had betrayed him. "D'you reckon it's in everything?" That would certainly explain the antsy feeling, and the want that was crawling its way up his spine.

"Yes. I suppose if we're going to have to, we might as well." Perseus shrugged, and took another sip before setting the glass aside, abandoning it on a table. "After you?"

After him, and Draco slipped out of the kitchens through the small side door that let out into the gardens. It was hot there, summer-warm, and he breathed in deeply as he paused, Perseus stepping up beside him. The stars overhead were faintly hazy with the heat when he lifted his head. "Only a couple more days." Then they would be back at Hogwarts.

“Then we're as safe as we can be." Perseus stretched, shaking out his newly Marked arm a little absently. "I bet if we find a bench and just sit, we'll be harder to find than if we went to the lab."

Probably so. It was a good idea, and Draco drifted further into the gardens, leading him towards a small spot in the back corner. His mother had planted roses there when he was still in primary school, and there was a wrought iron bench that nestled just behind a wide tree there.

Perseus was smiling, not the slightest hint of a glassy look in his eyes. "That's perfect." Sheltered and open at the same time. He slipped in behind the wide tree, and sat down in a half sprawl. It was ridiculously attractive, and Draco settled in beside him, tipping his head back against the support of the tree to look at the sky through the open branches.

Perseus tilted back his own head, and gave a quiet laugh. "Just when you think things can't get stranger... I'm going to stop thinking that thought, as it seems to invite disaster." The aphrodisiac was making twinges in Draco's stomach, low and hot, feelings that he hadn't felt in far too long.

He wasn't sure he wanted to be feeling them now. He was fairly certain that Perseus had the same thought as he did, and so he fumbled for his hand, catching it with his own fingers. "Yeah." Yes, disaster, but they would survive it. Both of them.

Perseus squeezed his fingers, and sighed. It was nice, lovely, quiet, and there wasn't any need to talk to enjoy the warmth outside and the stars.

"I know you're both out here."

Rosier. Draco's teeth landed on edge, and the spike of the aphrodisiac combined with the champagne and the mind's ease and the Dark magic still twining on his arm caused a burst of fury in the center of his skull. His fingers clenched around his wand, left hand coming up in a sudden violent motion even as he hissed.

"Go away." Perseus didn't even seem to react, so calm. "Go away, the party's back inside!"

The older man swept closer out of the darkness, leering. "If I went back inside then I wouldn't be able to enjoy you again, boy... or the Malfoy brat."

Malfoy brat.

He wasn't that. He was Draco, and Perseus wasn't a child to be forced for coins, and the fury was rising, sinking, spilling from his brain and down his spine and then along his wand arm, an unconscious action that he couldn't seem to stop. He was separated a bit in his head, fucked up and hot and wanting, and he wasn't willing to waste that on a bastard who deserved to die.

His father had always told him that _Avada Kedavra_ required that one mean it with every ounce of breath and soul in them. He had said that Draco would likely never need to have that kind of conviction.

His father had been wrong.

He barely got to standing when he cast it, and it didn't take the energy he'd thought it would -- it was just words, just a flick of his wrist and the anger, the need to see that man die because he'd hurt Perseus, because he wanted to hurt Draco, and Draco was tired of it. He was tired of it all.

"You..."

Oh.

 _Oh_. Well. That was... "Entirely unexpected," Draco said, dazed. "He didn't suffer near enough. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted..." Wanted him to be as miserable before he died as he had made Perseus.

Perseus stood up, and nudged the body with the tip of his shoe. It startled Draco from his daze when he shifted and gave it a vicious kick before stepping over it. "We should probably get your mother."

Yes.

Yes, his mother would know what to do, and perhaps they could just... transfigure the body into rocks or sand and hide it.

Oh god.

He had killed a Death Eater. Even mind's ease couldn't hold back the horror of that realization. "D'you think He'll...." Kill him, probably. Kill them both, maybe. Perhaps they ought to be preparing to run.

"I think the best thing to do is to tell your mother and rejoin the party. Like nothing happened. Like he wasn't worth it. Like it didn't matter. Because he doesn't." Perseus took another step, and stopped, waiting for Draco to come with him.

"Perhaps we had ought to change him into something. Rocks. Rosebushes." Fertilizer, except Draco had already done that, and he was appalled at that realization.

"No. Leave it." It, not him. Perseus reached to take his hand, and the heat in his belly hadn't abated. "This time, I can be useful."

Reaching out, Draco took his hand, fingers curling into his easily. They began to make their way through the garden side by side, and the euphoria that had begun in the ballroom made the body lying in the back corner with the roses seemed entirely unimportant.

Maybe Perseus was right that it was unimportant that he'd cast the killing Curse. The euphoria settled into him again, mingled with the heat, and he just drifted, trying not to think, trying not to consider that he'd done it, that Rosier was dead and there was no fear about being hunted through the house. Never mind that they were headed towards their biggest tormentor, hand in hand like something out of a fairy tale.

The party inside had devolved into extraordinarily inappropriate groups of near-nakedness, and Draco could feel himself reacting to it despite the fact that he did not want to do so, that he had no interest in their flesh or their desires. Perseus tugged and he followed, glancing around as they went, looking for his mother.

Hoping that his mother was fully clothed, or partially mostly clothed, or that they couldn't find her at all was a worse thought than that. They checked side rooms, and his father's study, the kitchen and the dining hall, before heading back to the main ballroom. If she was there, she wasn't going to do them any good, so Perseus started to lead them towards the raised dais where the Dark Lord waited.

So many people were around him, the least of which were his aunt and uncle, doing things that he never, ever wanted to contemplate.

Ever.

"My lord." Perseus spoke, and Draco's heart rose in his throat.

Gleaming red eyes fell on them, and he was quite certain that they were going to die before the evening was done.

"Rosier's dead." So calm, and thankfully Perseus was calm about it, not bothered, but he hadn't expected he would be even if Draco had done the killing. He probably just wished he'd done it himself.

Draco just wished that it had hurt a great deal more.

"And so." When he spoke, the people nearby paused, looked up from their occupations, whatever they were. "You have committed your first kill. How delightful."

Perseus's expression was a tight, somewhat real smile, and he turned it to Draco as if he'd been sure of it. "Easier than you thought it would be."

"By far." And immensely fucked up, too, but then, that seemed to be the standard these days. "Shall we remove the body, my lord?"

That smile was disturbing. "Perhaps instead you should whisper the location to my dear Nagini."

Ah. Two birds, very well fed snake. Perseus leaned in and crouched down to the side of the throne where Nagini was loitering, curled in on itself. He seemed to be doing just that, telling the huge beast where the body was. Maybe they could slip off to their rooms, now, because the snake began to wind its way through the revelers, steadily making its way towards the kitchen and the gardens. Perhaps they would not be short house-elves come morning, if they were very lucky.

The Dark Lord was watching both of them, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You are dismissed. I anticipate your presence the morning after tomorrow, before you leave for Hogwarts. That is when I will reveal your task to you."

"Thank you, my lord." Spoken near simultaneously, but they'd had a great deal of practice. Draco was quietly pleased to the back of his head that it hadn't ended with them on their knees before the assembly. Running away was much better, and lying in bed with Perseus, kissing him was best, at least until the heat subsided.

Still touching, they turned and began to wind back through the ballroom, the euphoric haze heightening the longer they were in it. Whatever task He was assigning, Draco was sure he didn't want to know. He had no choice, though, neither of them did, and they walked down the wide hall and made their way upstairs together.

In the safety of his rooms, Perseus moved lingering close to kissing, to goading him back towards the bed. "Just kissing. Just, I promise. I miss you, I miss how it used to be."

How sweet. How right, and nothing at all like the things they had been forced to suffer. And now Rosier was dead, and Draco had killed him, and he wasn't certain that he was in any shape for anything more in any case. "Just kissing," he murmured, and allowed himself to be guided back and into the bed.

Shrugging out of the robes took not too long, or the clothes beneath. Then Perseus was tugging him onto the bed, skin against skin while they kissed and lazed, and it was so sweet. Nothing like the vicious tug from the champagne or the blue spell that weaved its way along the ballroom below.

It was the first night in a long line of them that they had been allowed to rest so easily, so simply, and when Draco fell asleep mid-kiss, he could almost forget the threat of that task.

* * *

  
Draco was looking for the Vanishing Cabinet.

He hadn't wanted Perseus to go, not yet, no help needed yet, and that was fine. They hadn't really separated since they'd arrived there, hardly even to use the bathroom, so Draco haring off to find the Vanishing Cabinet was a good opportunity for him to hare off to find the headmaster.

After all, things had degraded. Very badly since the end of the last term.

As much as he had not wanted to get himself into the same situation he had been in previously, that choice had very clearly been taken from him. If there was going to be any way to protect himself and Draco, he was going to have to tell everything, starting with Marlena and that one unfortunate encounter to his son, who had finally killed off anything he had resembling a will to live. If it hadn't been for the timing of things, they both would have been dead entirely. Perhaps he should have felt more guilty about that, but he had wanted to live, clean and free.

He wasn't anymore, clean or free, and while he wasn't going to give Dumbledore all of the details, there was a lot he could say, a lot he could do, because there was killing Rosier and then there was killing Dumbledore. Two completely different things.

Which was how he found himself standing in front of the Gargoyle, trying different candy names. "Chocolate Frog?"

It surprised him that it would jump open at the very first try, and made him nervous, too. The stairs were moving, and he stepped in to rise on them, hands clenched by his side. Who knew what he would find in the headmaster's office, what his reaction would be. He only hoped it would not be unbearable. He didn't know where to start or what to say, except that perhaps Narcissa needed shelter. That was a start, if it could be done. He'd tried that for her before, but Lucius had been a bastard and well. Lucius. He'd almost played his hand on his loyalties then.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk when he reached the top, peering over those half-moon glasses at him as if he had been expected. "Hello, Mr. Averis. I was expecting to see you quite a bit sooner for some reason."

"Yes?" He wondered why. He wondered just how much he knew. "Draco's..." He waved a hand a little. "It's not good. It wasn't a very good summer."

"Have a seat," the old man invited. "And tell me exactly how things stand."

How things stand. How things stand. Perseus sat down, and started instead to unbutton the white sleeve of his uniform shirt, taking his time rolling it up. "I was staying in the Alley, making potions. It was, with the Trace, a little difficult, hard to make them good quality. Draco's aunt Bellatrix found me. The Dark Lord has a, a taste for boys." It wasn't at all how he wanted to say it, wasn't calm, wasn't controlled. It was coming out in spurts and noises, and it was nothing that Albus Dumbledore did not already know.

Half the wizarding world probably knew, but they never, ever spoke of it, the way they never spoke His name.

His face was stark with understanding as Perseus leaned in closely. "I am aware of his... predilections. Yourself? Mr. Malfoy?"

"It wasn't a good summer. It, Draco was half mad, broken bones, no one was fixing him, so I stayed to, he wouldn't leave because of his mother. They've got me making potions for them, and then H-He decided I should, I..." He managed to get his sleeve up, and just let Dumbledore see. "S-should join Draco, service him, it was, I walked into a Vanishing Cabinet and hoped it'd kill me and I couldn't even do that right."

The consideration on Dumbledore's face wasn't unknown to him, the way his hands clasped together, the way he moved. "And now, Mr. Averis? Are you seeking asylum, for both you and Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes." And Draco didn't know he was there. Draco wouldn't agree at all, Draco would have nothing to do with it because all he could think about was his mother. "Draco's been tasked with killing you."

A half-rusted chuckle was enough to startle him, make him jump in his chair. "Ahhh, well. If he will only be patient, I assure you that time will commit that act for him, young man. Truthfully, then, you can only request asylum for yourself, as Mr. Malfoy still plans to follow through on his orders, I suppose."

He clenched his jaw, swallowing. "I can't leave him. He hasn't done anything, he, he suffered all summer, we didn't even have a choice about this. We got back from getting books for this year, and Bellatrix declared we were going to be Marked." It wasn't their fault, and there wasn't anything he could do, and Perseus wasn't going to let Draco be forgotten, thrown aside.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "If you can talk him into accepting asylum, it will be granted. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it, Perseus. He has only to ask, as you have."

He inhaled, pressing the palm of his hand against the bridge of his nose. "He won't abandon his mother. If he turns, and they find out, they'll kill her. His father's already in prison."

Another nod, and then he saw it as those hands moved -- the sight of the old man's arm, the way it looked to be turning to stone, and he knew that it was a vicious, horrible curse. Draco truly wouldn't need to kill him. "You will need to find a way for Mrs. Malfoy to come to Hogwarts. If she wishes asylum, it will be hers as well. She only needs to ask."

His mouth pressed into a line. "How long do you have?" He gestured to Dumbledore's arm.

Fawkes gave a croak of sound as he leaned back in his chair and gave Perseus a tired smile. "Not very long at all. A few months at the most."

"And you can't stop it? What happens after you die?" Who was going to stop Voldemort? Potter?

"The world will continue to turn. It so often does, I'm afraid. The curse is... a very difficult one, incurable in fact. More insidious in its way than the Unforgiveables, I should think." Sharp blue eyes found him. "Are you sure that the Malfoys want asylum, Mr. Averis?"

"They'll do anything to survive. If I can contact Draco's mother and talk her into it, Draco would. It, this summer..." Was enough to make his mind stop short entirely, now that he wasn't focused on getting through each day as one separate section separated from all other sections. Now it was one long string of rape and pain and doing things he never wanted to do. Of mending broken bones and sliced skin, rubbing in dittany salve and hoping for the best.

Dumbledore nodded. "Convince them, Mr. Averis. Do your best. I have faith in you."

He didn't know if the headmaster actually did.

It felt like a dismissal, so Perseus nodded and stood up, rolling his sleeve back down to button it closed. He never wanted to go back there, back to the manor. Now he needed to find a way to contact Narcissa without the Dark Lord realizing what was happening.

He needed to convince Draco that the best thing to do was to ask for asylum and remain at Hogwarts, and that would be a difficult conversation, if not impossible. Even if they did ask for it, he wasn't certain how much good it would do. If they stopped working on the Vanishing Cabinet, someone else would take up the work.

Questionable safety was better than no safety at all, however, and he was well aware of it. Maybe it would be workable.

"Good luck, Perseus."

"Thank you. Is there..." He hesitated, still standing. "Is there anything I can do to help? With..."

The headmaster shook his head. "Nothing to be done, I'm afraid. Just... live as best you can, I think. If there is anything I might ask that you do, it would be that."

"It hasn't been a very good summer for that." He shook his arm out. "Hopefully I'll be back about the Malfoys soon. Good night, headmaster."

"Good night, Perseus."

The possibility of it being that simple was likely a pipe dream, but he nodded and returned to the stairs, making his way down from the headmaster's office a bit more quickly than he had gone up. The corridor was empty when he slipped out from behind the gargoyle, and so he hurried his steps, making his way back into the dungeons.

Best to find Draco as soon as he could, find him and bring it up right away. Either Draco would agree or they'd have a horrible fight, but he couldn't delay and he couldn't play at subtle.

He'd never been good at subtle, anyway.

The commons were mostly empty when he got there, and so he hurried down to their dormitory instead, pushing the door open to find only Crabbe and Goyle inside.

"Hey," Greg greeted, frowning at him. "Where's Draco?"

That was exactly what he wanted to know.

It was hard not to frown. "Apparently not here. Have you seen him since dinner?"

Vincent seemed to think about it. "Dunno. He said something about taking a walk. Figured the way he's been acting, it might do him some good. We've got Divinations homework so."

"Right." Now he needed to find Draco, find the places where Draco would take a walk. He knew those routes, the places where he might go vent steam. They were probably halfway on their way to an argument and they weren't even in the same room.

There was no use for it, so he turned around and marched his way back out of the dungeons. Why the bloody hell he didn't have a proper spell for pointing out the way to things he wanted, he didn't know. Clearly he needed to dig in his former quarters in order to find such a thing. Randomly running into Draco in a castle this size was akin to jumping off the London tower and being caught in the adoring arms of a flying Veela on the way down.

Still, he had to look, and it gave him time to burn off his own anger because there was nowhere that was really safe and no one was going to do anything, but he needed to try. He had to _try_ because that was the only thing that he could do. No one else was ever going to save them, and he had learned that lesson well a very long time ago.

Being who he was, who he had been, had so many advantages. He knew most of the interesting places in the castle, and he knew the places Draco might be searching for signs of the mysterious missing half of the Vanishing Cabinet. The Room of Requirement was a good starting place. He didn't need to find the Vanishing Cabinet, but he did need to find Draco with an important burning need. It was just a matter of needing enough and waiting in the right places, making the proper number of steps.

When the doors appeared and opened, it was to the jumble of things that were hidden and stored in its depths, a wide open space of dust and rickety furniture, old brooms and books. There could be a hundred Dracos in that room and he might never find them.

He went in anyway.

The door shut with a heavy weight, but stayed where he'd left it -- and he tested it twice, turning a corner and then coming back to check, so clearly he required a traceable exit as well. He went further in, and shouted, "Draco?"

The sound of it echoed back to him, co-co-co, accompanied by the fluttering sound of a swarm. He didn't think he would get an answer, and then it came, thin and nervy from somewhere deep in the jumble. "Here."

Here. One noise to mark his presence, one response that made Perseus arrow towards it and find that there was a mountain of rocking chairs in his way that he had to circumnavigate before he got to Draco. He almost didn't see him except for a flash of silver white hair in the dull, oddly dusk-lit room.

He stood before a wooden Cabinet, staring at it with lackluster gaze, face pale and set, entire body motionless. His eyes didn't so much as flicker to the side when Perseus came to stand beside him, looking at it as well. "I found it," he said after a moment, and he sounded flat, his voice dead in the wide, cluttered space.

"I wanted to talk to you about that." He strained to keep his hands at his side, not to cross them protectively over his chest like he had for ages and ages and ages. "We can't do this, Draco."

Grey eyes flitted his way, angry and hurt and confused. "We have to do this if we want to keep living. If my mother's going to live."

"We could get her a message. Hogwarts would give her asylum." He'd asked. He'd asked, he'd asked, he'd said it all, and it was a matter of working out how much to tell Draco. All or none?

Better as yet to begin with none. All could wait, wait until they weren't completely fucked, wait until things were better, if they ever were.

"Oh, yes. Hogwarts has always been inclined to offer asylum to Slytherins. It protects us so well, so unobjectionably fine. No one's head of house ever gets delivered by owl mail at breakfast at Hogwarts."

Thinking about it made his chest ache. "Draco. We could stay here, the three of us. And not leave. He was trying to get information to defeat Voldemort. That was... his choice to do. Hogwarts didn't kill him. The Dark Lord did."

"And what do you think He will do to us when the time comes and someone who is not one of us gets this thing working? If you think that you and I are the only agents he has in this place, you're a fool."

He sounded so much like his father.

"Then we destroy it and they have to get another way in." Perseus countered it, calm, stern, trying not to think. "We can't do what he wants. We'll end up back there all the time. There will be no going to Hogwarts for the school year. It'll be this summer, endlessly. Forever."

For a moment he thought that perhaps he had managed to make understandable sense to Draco. Just a moment, and then he had a ball of fire and anger pushing at him, Draco's chest against his own, and they tumbled to the floor. "Hogwarts can't protect us! That idiot Dumbledore can't protect us, he's more likely to send us out spying to fall into Voldemort's clutches, and he won't give a fuck so long as his precious Potter survives!"

He didn't fight, just tried to grab at Draco's hands. "He's dying. He's dying, Draco. It doesn't matter if you kill him or not, because he's _dying_." And he'd been betrayed and hurt, and he was angry because he couldn't even come out and say he was sorry, say he wished he'd done better than he had, even if he suspected the old wizard knew.

"And it won't be fast enough, and it won't matter! It won't matter because he expects me to do it, because I did it to Rosier!" And that was entirely different. That wasn't the same, because they'd been fucked up and high and Draco had hated Rosier from the second he had seen him in Perseus's memory. It didn't matter that it was flesh memory, that it wasn't perfectly true, Draco had hated him, and so killing him had been easy in that moment.

Killing Dumbledore wouldn't be.

"Then what's the harm? Is it so bad to ask for asylum and pretend to carry on the plan anyway?" It was what Perseus wanted to do. Play two sides, that was fine, whatever it took to get them out alive.

Funnily enough, that had always been his goal.

"The harm is that if He finds out, He has my mother!" Draco's fists were balled in his robes, his head down. "He has my _mother_ , and my father is in Azkaban, and if you don't think He would kill them both then you clearly aren't as intelligent as I thought you were."

He shifted, stretching his hands, clutching at Draco's robes to keep a grip on him. Even pinned to the floor, he had half a suspicion that Draco was going to go haring off into the wild. "And then what? Then your father gets out of prison, and then _all four of us_ are getting fucked and ripped to shreds for his amusement and that's not surviving!"

Or it was, but it wasn't living, and he wanted so badly to live. Desperately, and Draco put his head down on his shoulder, shaking against him and silent, and he had no idea if it had done any good at all.

It probably hadn't. He'd just introduced one more choice that wasn't really a choice, that didn't yield a good result at all but made them feel more guilty. He curled his left arm over Draco's shoulders, and just clutched. "No one is going to reward our loyalty, Draco. You're right. But we can pretend to care about all sides and maybe the winner won't kill us."

The sound of laughter was muffled against his body, or maybe it was sobbing. There was no way to be certain. "Which still means we'll have to work on the bloody Cabinet, you idiot."

"Fine. Fine, yes. Okay, it does, but please come with me tomorrow to see the headmaster." Whether it was laughter or sobbing didn't matter, because it amounted to the same hysterical edge. His hand shifted, moved up to cup against the back of Draco's neck, and they laid there for what seemed like a very long time.

"I'm scared," he finally said, after the longest time, after Draco's breathing quieted to bare hitches.

A hiccough of sound passed for a laugh. "Yeah, well. I'm bloody terrified, so at least we're in the same boat." When he lifted his face, Draco's eyes were dry, but there was a high flush across his cheeks and into his ears. "I'd say we're fucked."

"We're maybe a little less fucked if we stick together." Work on the Cabinet and on asylum. Do both, try both, do whatever was necessary to live, It was a lot of balls to keep in the air, but it was something very familiar to Perseus. Some things never stopped being a part of someone, even when that person ceased to be.

Draco's mouth curled tiredly. "Fucked one way or the other. Just... let's try not to get my mother killed. Or my father. I can't... if He does, I can't...."

"I know. I know." He rubbed fingers at the back of his neck. "Vincent and Gregory were worried about you."

Draco laid his head down again, his own thumb placed lightly against Perseus's outstretched wrist, the one that wasn't rubbing at him. "Yeah. They're... I don't know if they'll... if the power structure of Slytherin shifts, I can't be sure." He already wasn't, neither of them were. It was a hazard with which they would have to live.

Careful careful at all times, not too vigorously devoted to either side, walking a tightrope. Oh, it felt like old days again, and he wanted to say, wanted to tell Draco except it would've added to an already horrible situation. Better to lie on the dusty floor and feel Draco's fingers on his wrist, his cheek against his chest. There was so much comfort in easy intimacy. "It's going to be a rough year."

A rough year. Maybe a rough life. When he had come to Hogwarts, he had thought that it would be possible to avoid all of this. He had wanted things to be different. He had wanted to be the sort of person who could be friends with someone like Draco, someone who had power without being in the position he found himself in now. The fact that they had been dragged into this together only made it feel worse somehow.

"Yeah. Rough." Draco was warm and heavy over him, but he felt good. Felt right, like something he had needed and just hadn't realized. "We're going to die."

Probably. He exhaled, closing his eyes to focus on just that moment. Something precious to hold on to when things inevitably went to shit again. "I'd rather not die."

"Me, either. I vote we don't do it." And then he laughed again, no matter that it wasn't funny. "Well. We found the Cabinet. Tomorrow, I'll go to the library and start researching."

"I'll help. We'll look less suspicious if we're both in on it." And more suspicious, but it was better to be the average level of fishy and not cross over it. They were expected to stick together and plot and that was what they would do.

But for a few minutes more, they were going to lie on the floor and just be.

* * *

  
Potions class was a boring waste of time. Never mind that it was NEWT grade potions; Slughorn was nowhere near as interesting as Professor Snape had been, nor was he as good a potioneer.

Luckily for Draco, Perseus was. He was an excellent tutor, as well.

The thing of it was, in the end, that Draco wasn't stupid. He was crap in Charms and miserable at Care of Magical Creatures, but overall, he wasn't stupid. Sometimes, it was better to be a little blind, however, for everyone involved.

Plus, well. He didn't want to make an idiot of himself if he happened to be wrong so he kept it quiet and assumed that either something would be said that confirmed or denied, or not. And he could enjoy himself and watch as Perseus stood beside him and pretended to read the text book instructions to brew draught of living death, at which Perseus was excellent, and which Bellatrix had used to poison a small Muggle village.

It wasn't as if they couldn't brew that one in their sleep, both of them, and Veritaserum as well, he thought, crushing the sopophorous beans firmly to release the juice. Perseus was working away beside him, humming to himself a little. Seeing him enjoy himself was... nice. Feeling enjoyment was probably nice, although Draco couldn't seem to dredge up much of it himself. There were too many things about which he worried, nearly constantly. Honestly, if he didn't need to be sharp every second of the day, he'd probably be brewing mind's ease tucked away in the girls' lavatory where that Moaning Myrtle preferred to haunt.

Mind's ease was just too much, though, too much to have while he was in school and not get caught out by McGonagall or someone. She always had a keen eye, even if Slughorn was willing to excuse away all sorts of things. Plus, well. The dicy potions bit that Perseus had talked about... clearly it wasn't an exaggeration. He had read once that flesh memory was sometimes stronger than actual memory, mostly while trying to learn Legilimency. He had used that knowledge to circumnavigate the memories Bellatrix asked for and expected to see when they were practicing, just because... just in case.

No, he wasn't stupid. But sometimes he thought he might be desperate.

He worked quietly, not quite as nuanced or good, but better than he had been in ages, fingers squeezing the juices, taking his time with the other ingredients because speed was sometimes the enemy. Besides, it wasn't as if his would be quite up to par with Perseus's, and it also wasn't as if anyone else's would come close to either of them. Even Granger, because she was terribly pedantic in that Mudblood way of hers. Sometimes, the book was meant more as a suggestion and less as a fact of life, and she never seemed to get that through her thick skull.

When it exploded in a puff of vicious smoke, Draco tried not to smile to himself and kept working.

By the end of the class, his potion was still just a touch sheened with lilac -- barely, but enough that he noticed it. Perseus's was, of course, perfect. He wasn't surprised by that.

He was surprised that Potter's had turned out so well, though.

That was odd, unless sudden budding potions geniuses were all the rage. Slughorn went from cauldron to cauldron, inspecting and tsking and adding a few words of support to the many many failures. He came to Draco's and offered, "So close -- almost perfect! I think it needed half a stir more. Yes, yes, Perseus here has excelled again, how lovely." And then across the room to Potter's cauldron.

Draco watched as the old man dropped a single petal into the brew, his face lighting up with delight. "Exquisite, my boy! Why, I daresay a single drop would kill us all. You certainly have your mother's talent for potions, I'll give you that." It was a wonder he didn't dance with glee at that declaration, and Draco felt his mouth compress, his eyes narrow. "Without a doubt the best potion here today!"

Except it bloody well wasn't, and Draco knew it. His might, _might_ , have needed a half stir more, but Perseus's didn't.

Perseus's expression clenched a little, and he stepped back from his cauldron. "Ugh. A year of this is going to kill me."

Yes, well. That or they'd have to kill Potter first. It was a pity that the Dark Lord wanted to kill him personally. "We both know yours is the better brew." There was that, at least. Small favors.

Perseus's mouth twisted a little wickedly. "Well, at least we know mine works. Here, let's bottle while they coo over Potter."

Waste not, want not, in any case, and Draco helped him to slip it into phials while everyone else was still eyeing their own failures or looking put out that Potter had managed to brew something perfect. Even Potter seemed a little dumbfounded by it, despite the fact that he was grinning like a complete fool.

Ha. Like a fool. He was a fool if he thought he was going to manage to defeat the Dark Lord, despite the fact that Draco would like to hope that he might. He hoped he might, because if he died then he and Perseus would get out scot free. Still, it was unlikely. "Maybe he'll drink it and decide which of his friends he's actually sleeping with."

There was no stopping his snickering, because Potter and the ambiguously sexed duo were almost certainly so completely Gryffindor that they might never figure out what sorts of sexual preferences they held. Then again, with the exception of Weasley, the lot of them probably didn't realize that sexual orientation amongst wizards were mostly only limited in a pureblood sort of way of having an heir to the family name before taking up with one's partner of preference.

The Weaseleys certainly got around as proof that they understood it.

The last thin bottle was stoppered, and he slipped them into his robe pockets. "So. Let's call this one a day?"

"Might as well." The rest of the class was gathering for the granting of the _Felix Felicis_ , and so Draco tilted his head in the direction of the crowd and they moved closer, Crabbe and Goyle slipping in behind them. Blah, blah, Potter, blah, luck, blah blah.

Potter wasn't the one who needed luck.

Still, they watched him receive it, grinning brightly like he was still surprised at himself, and it was nauseating. Perseus had talked Draco into going with him to talk to the headmaster that evening, but there was his fine example of how much good it was going to do for them.

Pissing into the wind, it was. All of it, and they would be lucky to come out of it all alive no matter which side won.

Class was dismissed, and Draco packed away his things quickly, falling into step beside Perseus as they slipped out into the corridor.

"Shall we get this over with?" Before dinner, yes. So that after dinner, he and Perseus could go to the library and read and not have to stop to do their work.

He felt his mouth compress, and a headache coming on. "Might as well. We've plenty of other things to keep us occupied for today." Playing both sides was nerve wracking, and Draco could admit that he was high strung about it. Who wouldn't be? Just thinking about playing both sides was making him nervous. Still, they slipped out, and started up out of the dungeons, weaving in and out of clots of other students. Not too fast, not too slow, just a pace that wouldn't draw any attention to them. It wasn't as if they didn't have classes in areas other than the dungeons, anyway. Surely no one could find any particular fault with them being in the upper levels of the castle, although considering bloody Gryffindors, they would certainly try.

The mass of students thinned out as they got closer to the portion of the castle they were seeking, and quieter, which made Draco relax. He really wasn't sure to do with all of those people anymore where before he would've pressed through them with no hesitation at all. "I think I know what section of the library we need to look in."

"With our luck, you're about to say the Restricted Section. I still have a note from Professor Snape allowing me into it, but I sincerely doubt it'll work anymore." The professor had been aware of his father's much more extensive library, and that Draco had been taught from the time he could toddle about what he mustn't touch.

Perseus exhaled. "Well, there went that idea, then. Doubt we'll get any such note from Slughorn." Slughorn was suspicious of the members of his house, afraid of the Dark Lord's return, afraid of a lot of things. He seemed to have his suspicions about Draco and Perseus as well.

Then again, who didn't? Blaise was still spending most of his nights in various Slytherin beds other than his own, but it was clear that he understood they'd been Marked. Vincent and Gregory had made remarks that implied they knew, as well, and everyone in Slytherin House walked carefully around them despite the general knowledge of the Malfoy family's disgrace. "Well, what you can't get..." Draco began, shrugging.

He wasn’t even sure how they all knew it, but Perseus hadn't said, had generally played things close to his chest on that account. Still, to be Marked and Slytherin was granted a certain distance and respect from the other house members. They were left alone, which was how Draco needed, wanted to be. "Steal." Perseus sighed, taking Draco down a corridor. "I think we're being followed."

Draco didn't turn or glance behind them. It wasn't as if he had to, in all honesty, and his mouth compressed tightly. "Well, he's going to be a bloody bother, but I doubt we can do anything about it." One never could where Potter was concerned, even if Draco wanted more than anything to kick him in the face.

"Are you ever just tempted to stop and wave hello at him?" Perseus asked, a bare whisper as he leaned in to Draco and they turned another corner.

He couldn't help the snort he gave in response before breathing a reply. "What, and give him heart failure? Potter would see wickedness in a Slytherin if we were working at a soup kitchen." If the Slytherin in question was his aunt, then it seemed entirely likely that Potter wouldn't be wrong, either.

Draco could certainly see her cooking Muggles and serving them at a soup kitchen, rather than just serving them. "Still. I'm tempted." He didn't, though, not this time, and instead they made their way up to the headmaster's gargoyle.

A whispered password got them inside, the gargoyle hopping out of the way as if they had been expected. He honestly wasn't surprised to feel an invisible brush of air against his back, and he stiffened, glancing at Perseus from the corner of his eyes. Surely it wouldn't be ill-done to knock Potter over so that he fell back down the stairs.

Perseus rolled his eyes as they kept up the stairs, shaking his head. "Headmaster?"

"Ahhh. Mr. Averis. And I see you have brought Mr. Malfoy with you, as well."

The old man looked bloody awful, like he was liable to fall over dead from where he sat. Perhaps it would be easier to kill him than it had seemed. Or Perseus had been right in what he'd said. "Yes, sir. About what we discussed yesterday."

Without Draco, which meant that he had lost an opportunity to be certain about his suspicions. It was just as well; he still didn't need to know, even though he badly wanted that knowledge.

"And is Mr. Malfoy willing to request asylum from Hogwarts?"

Not so much, no. "Yes, headmaster. But my mother...." There was no way to tell her what they were doing, or to get her to Hogwarts. No way he could think of in any case.

"We have to go back over Yule. That would be... an opportunity to talk to her," Perseus offered, looking sideways at Draco, because he was suggesting it for the first time.

An opportunity to get buggered and to fail beneath the Dark Lord's use of Legilimency as well, but Draco couldn't see any way to out of that, one way or another. He licked his lips, head ducked. "Yes."

There was no good way to go about it. No effective way, and he didn't know why Perseus was even trying.

"So." Perseus seemed three steps from fidgeting.

"So," Dumbledore replied. "If at all possible, we will attempt to find some recourse to the two of you leaving Hogwarts at Christmas. It would be safer if the two of you remain here."

Draco opened his mouth to protest. "My mother...!"

"However," the old man continued, "in light of the need to convince Mr. Malfoy's mother to come to Hogwarts as well, I can see where it will be necessary for him to return home for the holidays."

Just him.

No, no, no. Not just him. Not just him, he couldn't, then it would be known, and it would all fall apart because he, they'd be punished for that, Perseus had to know that. "If we could convince her to come here to pick us up..." Perseus offered, and then if she never went home, yes, that was an option except for the part where it wasn't.

"Oh, who do any of us think we're fooling?" Draco snapped. "We can't just not go home over Christmas. She can't come here and not leave Hogwarts again, because then we are in worse shape than we started off in, and that? That is saying something."

Perseus rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, it is. I... this is why this isn't going to work. We don't get to walk away, and no one's going to put their neck on the line to protect us."

He knew that he sounded like a bitter, vicious bastard. He couldn't help it, because he quite frankly was. "Well, and what exactly makes that a change?"

Dumbledore watched them quietly, leaning back in his chair. "Then the only option I can offer you is protection against Ministry prosecution at a later date."

Fantastic. It sounded like it wasn't the first time he had made that offer, either. "In exchange for information."

So if they survived they might not go to Azkaban for doing things they didn't want to do, for things that had been done to them. "I..." Perseus was looking at the headmaster, shaking a little. "No, please no, you're dying, who do we even give information to?"

Draco gave a vicious sound, leaning forward. "Potter, of course. Potter and his lot, because as surely as there are Death Eaters, there has to be a group interested in the exact opposite of them. Even if Dumbledore falls over dead tomorrow, we'd still be bound by whatever agreement he wants." He looked across the desk. "I suppose you expect us to make the Vow."

"Would it make this easier on you, Mr. Malfoy?" Maybe. Maybe it would. To be bound, to know that he was making a vow that couldn't be broken, to serve two sides.

To still have the option to save both of them if that was at all possible. "Nothing is going to make this easier."

"Then, Mr. Malfoy, if Perseus will witness..." Perseus shook his head, almost a no, though Draco knew if he agreed to it, Perseus would.

He wanted to ask for a moment to discuss it; wanted to know what Perseus thought, because if what he suspected was true, no one would know better than he did exactly what Draco was walking into if he agreed. Dumbledore didn't seem willing to allow them that opportunity, however, already standing, and Draco looked at Perseus, uncertain and afraid and running out of options.

"Why can't we get a better option than this? This, we're going to end up dead, or in Azkaban anyway." Perseus sounded all nerves while he pulled out his wand. They could've just run away, he supposed, except. Except, his mother, and his father. Perseus could've run away, except he was stupid on some level about people.

About Draco. And Draco was stupid about him, as well, in ways that made him desperate. Ways that made him vicious and fierce and terrified all at once.

"There is, of course, the previously named option. You may stay here at Hogwarts, you may offer the refuge of Hogwarts to your mother, but in doing so you will declare yourself to the Dark Lord. And I know that you are aware of the manner in which he views turncoats, Mr. Malfoy."

Yes, well. One way or the other, he was going to be a traitor. The one option was just idiotically public, and the other too damned like being bound to someone else's ambitions and desires. "Will the Vow nullify with your death?"

"The Vow will nullify after Voldemort's or your own demise."

"This doesn't end well." Perseus lifted his wand, while Dumbledore gestured for Draco to reach out and take his arm. "This isn't..."

"Give me another option, then." Any option. He'd take it, and he was looking to him for it, but he couldn't see his way out of it. At the moment, it was this or nothing, because if he didn't request asylum, Dumbledore wouldn't hesitate to toss him under the proverbial carriage wheels. If he did so publicly, he was fucked, and Draco was fairly certain that lube wouldn't be included in that bargain.

"I don't know, we didn't choose to go this way, I didn't want to be Marked, I didn't want what happened..." And why couldn't Dumbledore just get his mother and bring her there? It probably would've tangled some plan, would've cut off a good source of information if they were going to do it, that was for sure.

If someone just snatched his mother and hid her away, none of this would be necessary, and none of it would fit into whatever plans the scheming old bastard had made. Draco turned towards him, and he could feel the heat in his face, the way his hands shook. "And neither did I. Do you think I did? Do you think there is any other choice? He's not offering something for nothing. We are not Gryffindors. We are not foolish enough to believe that would happen." He jerked his head to look at the headmaster. "Perseus won't make the Vow. He doesn't need to."

At least one of them should have the option of taking to his heels.

"No, he does not. Perseus?" The headmaster peered over the edge of his glasses. "Your witness, please."

"Merlin. Yes, fine. Fine." He lifted his wand, and cast a spell he had no right to know how to cast. No words, just magic, flowing like threads over his arm and Dumbledore's, threading up and around in gold that burned like fire and made Draco begin to shake worse.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, vow to serve the Order of the Phoenix? To spy for the side of Light in exchange for protection from prosecution for your actions as a Death Eater?"

As if he had done anything aside from get fucked and tortured nearly stupid. "Yes."

The threading tightened up, and Perseus looked to Dumbledore, as if asking if that was it. Hopefully it was. That was enough to get them both killed, even if Perseus was too stupid to run for the hills and live on his own, which he should have done right to start.

"And do you swear to do your best to assure that Harry Potter will have the opportunity to destroy Lord Voldemort?"

Draco's chin jerked upwards. "Yes." The old man began to withdraw his hand and he clamped down on it hard. "I expect a Vow in return."

The funniest smile crossed the man's face, and Draco's fingers tightened fractionally. "All right, Mr. Malfoy. Go on."

He licked his lips nervously, drawing in a deep breath. "Do you swear that if I meet this Vow, you will "I don't want to tell you everything. He... made Draco Vow to serve the Order, to spy on Lordinclude my mother and Perseus Averis in your promise whether I die or not?"

Draco didn't look over at Perseus, just looked at the old man, who nodded, and uttered, "Yes. I swear it."

"And if I can get my mother to agree, will you provide protection for her and a secret keeper if at all possible?"

"Pending her agreement, yes. And your father, if he so desires and agrees. I think that's all?" He waited for Draco's nod, and Perseus ended the spell, wrapped it tight around them until it burned into the bone in a different way than the Mark had. And then Perseus was hugging him.

"You damned melodramatic prick."

Yeah, maybe. Okay, probably, but there was nothing new about it, he'd always been prone to dramatics. He could hardly help himself. "You hadn't ought to have to Vow anything. It's not... You're even less at fault than... You hadn't ought."

"Well, you're not doing it alone, Vow or no." No, and he hadn't figured he would be. Perseus was there whether it was bright of him or not. Draco just hoped that whenever he finally got killed, Perseus's sense of self-preservation kicked in.

"Well." Dumbledore seemed entirely too pleased with himself, the right old bastard. "I suppose now you had ought to tell me exactly what it is you are supposed to be doing aside from killing me, Mr. Malfoy."

Bloody Potter. He was too stupid not to make that sound over in the corner, as if he couldn't be heard. And now Draco had promised to help him survive this coming disaster. He had to be utterly mad to have made that Vow. Well, mad or desperate, and Draco licked his lips and looked at Perseus. "There's a Vanishing Cabinet. I'm supposed to be fixing it."

"It's good and broken. Physically it's fine, but all the magical connections are severed. There's a lot of fixing to do." Perseus was nodding as he said it, as if that made any bloody difference at all.

"And I suppose there is a mate somewhere to which you fully plan to connect it?"

Perseus stepped away from him finally, and Draco blinked, drawing in an unsteady breath before he sat back down. "Yes." Yes, and for the life of him, he couldn't seem to get his mouth to work. Merlin, what had he done? What had he _Vowed_ , had he lost his fucking mind? Clearly.

Clearly it was Perseus's fault, even if he was as uneasy as Draco was as he sat back down, hands on his knees. "It's in Borgin and Burke's."

His fingers squeezed tightly on the arms of his chair. "Greyback's watching it." Which meant if they didn't work on it, they'd probably end up werewolves. Them or his mother, and that thought made him sick to his core. "We've got no choice but to fix it, whether I'm telling you what I know or not."

Dumbledore nodded, and leaned against the edge of his desk. "Very well. Work on the Cabinet, then. And let me know when you succeed." Not 'stop working on it', not 'don't do it', not even 'fuck around a bit and take lots of time'.

Completely mad, that old man, and Draco knew how to deal with madmen. He nodded in agreement, and managed to keep his mouth shut.

"Well, I've kept you both far too long from your studies." He moved off the desk. "I won't keep you any longer, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Averis. Good luck, and I expect to hear from you. If you'd stay, Mr. Potter, I would like to have a word with you."

Fucking _Potter_. "And if you think in the least that this has anything to do with you, think again, Potter. I'd still like to see you fall on your head from your damned broom."

He was pulling that damn cloak off, moving up off of the second step from the top of the stairs while Perseus stood up. "Sorry, Headmaster, I just..."

"Thought we were up to something and as self appointed snoop decided to follow us," Perseus bit out. "Congratulations, I think you've finally bitten off more than you can chew. You're going to need that liquid luck at this rate."

Although probably not as badly as he and Perseus would. At least they were capable of brewing their own. "Might as well head back down. We're all missing Care of Magical Creatures." Draco had no plans whatsoever for showing up, either. His only plan led directly back to their dorm room where he could curse himself for being a complete idiot.

They circled each other, Potter smartly moving out of reach just when Draco and Perseus reached the stairs. It was easier to leave than to pick a fight just then, his head spinning too hard already. What the hell had he done? He hadn't accomplished anything, and he'd stuck himself in a hell of a bad position, too, and this was not going to end well. By the time they got to the bottom of the stairwell, he was numb and dismayed and clearly aware that he had completely lost his mind.

Aware and unable to change it, with Perseus walking grimly along with him. The quiet hung there, around them more than between them, until they were in the dorm room again, blessedly alone. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" There was no point in him being sorry. He'd done what he had to do, and he'd managed to keep Perseus out of it, right?

Right?

"I wasn't expecting that." Perseus rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and gave a miserable sort of laugh as he set his things down on his bed, started to unpack the phials from potions class. "I should have expected him to do that."

"Yeah." Maybe he should have. Draco didn't think it was the first time he'd done it, and he wasn't fool enough to think it was the last. It didn't matter. "It's all right. I'm... This wasn't going to end well no matter what." He wasn't stupid enough to think that it was. "But when everything goes to hell, I want you to run." At least one of them ought to live, right? Wherever this idiotic streak of bravery or, or whatever it was had come from, it had to be good for something.

If he couldn't save the people he loved, what good was he?

"I don't want to run. I..." For a moment there was nothing but the tiny clinking of glass against glass as Perseus wrapped the phials in leather to buffer them while he stored them. "I'm tired, Draco. I'm so bloody tired, and I don't want to lose you."

He didn't want to snap at him or tell him it was too late for that. It had been too late for that before Perseus even showed up, and all right, he was angry and afraid and a complete coward because he didn't want to die, but he would have to worry about that some other time. Some later time.

"Come here, you pillock."

It at least got a laugh out of Perseus, and he set down the last phial before he turned around. "I mean it. I'm not going to run. There isn't much point in running when there isn't anything to run to."

Draco ducked his head, slipping closer and pressing his face against Perseus's throat. "Don't be an idiot." His voice was muffled, quiet. "There might not be anything to run to, but if you take off, you'll at least have a life at the end of it, maybe."

He felt Perseus sigh, petting at the back of his neck. The fingers lingering there felt good, and made him feel a little better about his choice. Perseus pulled him to sit down on the bed. "I have no idea how we're not both at St. Mungo's by now."

"Well, if it came to that, we should've been there after the first few weeks of summer." Half mad, taking the mind's ease. All alone with Voldemort, not that it hadn't been just as awful with Perseus there. "But now we're just here." End of the line maybe. Maybe not, but they had the dorm to themselves for a bit, and that was something, too.

It had to be true, the reason that Professor Snape had died. The things his father had intimated. There was no reason for Perseus to die the same way.

"Different master." Perseus shifted, leaning back against the pillows. "Are you going to do Quidditch this year?"

"And there'll be time for that in between fixing the damn Cabinet and..." Whatever else he had to do. "Not enough time. Not enough interest." He was tired already, and Draco curled into him. They seemed to end up this way a lot lately, but he needed this.

Respite and safety, just for a few spare minutes. He was falling apart a little, and his father wouldn't have been proud at all, but there was comfort to be found just sitting there. No risk anyone was going to find them, no risk anyone would ask where they were when they left before Care of Magical Creatures ended, and went looking for a solution to the Cabinet problem.

* * *

  
Merlin, he was tired.

Too much research, not enough time, telling the headmaster bits and pieces of news from home, which was properly horrid. He'd never cared for the old man, and he liked him even less now that he was bound, chained down to his bones by the Vow he had made. His studies were falling apart, his grades were a disaster, and Perseus's weren't looking that great, either.

He was still sure Perseus had already passed them all once before, which made the grade disaster even more of a travesty. He'd given up on propriety in their dorm, and just taken to pulling the curtains and crawling into bed with Perseus with a handful of scrolls and books to read. Vincent and Gregory likely already thought he was 'round the loop, and if Perseus seemed to be holding together better and tolerating his newly developed strangeness, all the better. Any reports home they made would be fine by Draco.

What were they going to do, after all? Kill him?

That made him snort with a sick sort of repressed laughter, which earned him a spectacularly dirty look from Madame Pince. He didn't much care so long as she wasn't docking points from Slytherin. He'd survive dirty looks. Probably. He'd survived them before, and he'd survive them again. He lingered, turning another page, and trying not to look at Madame Pince because he might just start laughing again.

Better by far to keep reading about the charms used to create a Vanishing Cabinet. Why did it have to be charms? He was complete rubbish at them when he wasn't stressed out and fucked up, and now he was having to figure out the bloody things when he wasn't exactly at his best. Not his worst, clearly, but definitely not his best, and Perseus wasn't able to articulate what was wrong with it, which left them roughly at square one. With the looks he was getting, maybe it was best to just take his books and go. Find a nice niche in the dungeons to read and cuss to himself.

Useless.

It was all useless, and he sighed as he began to pack up his books. They had a pass for the Restricted Section, but it wasn't doing them much good. Why couldn't Vanishing Cabinets be fixed with potions, anyway? Those at least made sense. No, no, it had to be charms laid atop charms layered with more charms, like some quiet horrible portkey, only with none of the ease. Why a Vanishing Cabinet when portkeys worked just as well for travel in an emergency? He took his time packing, and headed for the door, not even bothering to give Madam Pince a wave as he slipped outside.

Which of course, was where Potter was coming up a hallway.

"Malfoy."

It was clearly not his day.

In fact, Draco felt that it was safe to say that it was not his week, nor was it his year. At the rate they were going, it would not be his decade, and that was saying something. "What do you want, Potter?" He spat it out, glancing around nervously to see if anyone was about, if anyone had noticed. The idiot was going to get him killed.

Potter seemed to follow the suspicious facial expression, and turned down a narrow hallway. "I'd like to knock the stuffing out of you, but I'll settle for talking."

His breath hissed out between his teeth, Draco's brow knotting. "Seems to me you'd have at least made the effort of _making yourself scarce_ first, you twit." Draco checked the corners again, made sure no one was lurking, because if he was caught out, he'd die so, so very fast, and he didn't want to die. Dying hurt, and Draco was unprepared for pain, agony, or general suffering. Didn't like it, didn't want it, already had it in his future and would prefer that it not be immediately.

"I wanted to know why you did it."

Of course he did. "And you couldn't have passed a note? Idiot, come back when you're Disillusioned. Or better yet, don't."

"Because passing notes works so very well around here." He frowned at Draco, saying almost stubbornly, "There are places we can talk that no one will hear." Fantastic, then they needed to go there. Without being seen.

There were footsteps coming, and it made him a bit frantic. "Then tell me where, Potter, and leave!" Preferably before someone saw them.

"Astronomy tower, door on the left." And that was that, with Potter heading off in the other direction. At least he had the sense to reach the end of the hallway and shout over his shoulder, "Slytherin slime!" Even if Draco suspected he could've done a better job of putting on a convincing act when he was five.

The footsteps turned out to be nothing more than Hufflepuffs, and Draco bared his teeth at them, making both of them jump and scatter. Not that there weren't Hufflepuffs amongst the Dark Lord's brigade; they were present in a strangely disproportionate number, and there were no few Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, either, but the world never seemed to realize that Slytherins weren't the only ones who could make poor life choices. The fact that he had even considered that made him faintly nauseated, and he stalked off in the opposite direction as Potter.

Naturally that meant it took him twice as long to get to the Astronomy Tower, the bastard, and he was sitting there looking impatient when Draco arrived.

"Shut the door." He was sitting down, and stayed that way while Draco swept into the room. "Why did you do that? Make a... a vow with Dumbledore."

He couldn't help sneering. "Do you honestly think that your dear, kindly headmaster offers something for nothing when it comes to Slytherins, Potter? D'you think Professor Snape died because he was having a right good time at spying and just couldn't seem to stop himself? Like Crabbe and Goyle and cupcakes, perhaps?"

"Snape was a spy? I thought he was, I thought Dumbledore just didn't know what he was up to." Harry frowned, that intense frown that Draco supposed meant he was burning up brain cells left and right. "Why're, if you're dark Marked, why would you do anything for Dumbledore?"

Dear Dallben. He really was that utterly stupid. "Realizing, Potter, that you've got no parents, I can see where any worry you might feel over someone would never lead you to do anything foolish to try and protect them." His mum. Perseus. His dad, what little he could, because that clearly was not going to end well, no.

His father was stubborn, and had really believed in the Dark Lord in a way Draco couldn't fathom anymore. Then again, so, probably, had Severus and his mother, but the smarter people in Draco's lives weren't above changing their minds on important topics like loyalty to a madman. "I had family I would've done anything to protect, but your aunt killed him." Harry's frown deepened, and Draco wondered when the first hex was going to get thrown. He'd try not to let it be him. "So you're... part of the Order now. And Averis, as well? But you're still trying to kill the Headmaster, aren't you?"

"Shame your kin didn't kill her, then." It was a gratifying notion, and he allowed himself one moment of utter bliss because of it. "As for the other, it's a delicate balance and none of your business." Whatsoever.

"Since it has to do with me, I think it is my business." That was rich, because everything had to do with Potter. "If you're going to be trying to see to it that I have an opportunity to kill Voldemort, I sort of need to know what and who I'm working with and why. I'm tired of everyone having their little bizarre secrets that just make things worse."

"Then my advice is that you check with the head secret keeper, Potter. Knowledge is power and all that rubbish, but I'm going to be dancing a razor-thin line and I don't need you or.... this..." Whatever this was. "...sending it all tumbling down." Plus, he'd like the opportunity to save the people he loved if Potter fucked it up, not to mention his own skin even if the latter was highly unlikely.

"Look, I can't help you... I can't promise you I can't screw up your razor thin line if I don't know what you're doing," Harry stressed. "I'm not a total idiot. But if we're both acting like we always did, I'm going to trip you up at some point."

The worst part of it was that the damnable ass was probably right. "Fine. Yes. Does that suit you, then?"

"Yes. Just tell me what's going on, so I don't accidentally make things worse for whatever Dumbledore's got you doing." And Harry was looking at him expectantly, because he still wanted all of his answers now, yesterday.

God, how Draco detested him. Things were so easy for Potter, and that ridiculous earnestness made him want to slap him, or better yet let him have a good week with the Dark Lord. That would send him packing. "There is nothing new to report. You heard it all before and the damned Cabinet is all Charms, which I'm perfectly horrible at, and if I'm lucky the old bastard will kick off before Christmas so I don't have to head out into the wide world with _but I'm trying really hard_ as the only thing between me and..." A week in the Dark Lord's bed, which frankly scared him worse than the alternative. ".... _Cruciatus_."

"Right." He stared at Draco, hard enough that Draco swore he saw the little wheels turning, spinning slowly. Creak, creak. Surely there was some brain lubricant potion he could slip the boy. "I heard it before, but I guess I don't understand it. I thought you were pro pure-blood, pro-Voldemort, not... willing to turn coat because of _Cruciatus_."

Bastard. Utter, utter complete bastard, and Draco's fingers itched to wrap around his throat. "My beliefs remain. The difference is that it has become perfectly clear that the Dark Lord doesn't give two good damns as to how pure the blood is that he spills, and there are people I would prefer to live." Well, that and the buggery, although he wasn't ever telling that to Potter. Ever.

"Oh." Finally. Finally it looked like he was going to submit and give up. Potter nodded, and Draco resisted slouching in glee. "Right. So if you do get up to something, you'll tell me?"

"You'll be first on my list, Potter." And if that was too sarcastic to suit him, then he could just piss off.

If he seemed to miss the sarcasm at all, that was even better. "Don't take it out on me just because you and your friends got yourselves in too deep. When we finally get him, you lot'll get off." Harry started to stand up.

Too deep? The fury that welled up in him then was close to exploding, his fists clenched tightly to keep him from strangling the idiot. "Too deep? You think we went willing, you think this was all tiptoeing through the tulips and blood pops, do you? You think living with Bellatrix Lestrange is easy, or saying you won't follow her when she expects you to? You...!" Merlin. He needed to get himself under control before he said things he would undoubtedly regret. Boxes. Mind palace, empty rooms with nothing in them, and Draco managed to draw in a deep, steadying breath before he continued. "Not everyone has your options, Potter. Now, if it's all the same to you, I have work to do."

Everything was in boxes where they belonged.

He didn't want to see if Potter had a response. Draco opened the door and stormed out instead, focusing his mind rather than think at all about how much he wanted to turn around and strangle the smug git.

* * *

  
He'd never really expected that a Vanishing Cabinet might kill him.

Perseus had always expected that the damned things would fail, as all magic was sometimes wont to do, but he didn't expect that he'd die of an aneurism because that bloody charm should've bloody well fixed it and it wasn't working!

His mood was utterly foul and Draco's was little better. Both of them having at least one shred of good sense, they had avoided one another for the last several days. Rumors of a lover's quarrel abounded: Blaise Zabini had attempted to sneak into his bed, and Pansy Parkinson seemed to have decided that all Draco needed to come 'round to her way of thinking was _the proper love of a good woman_ , never mind the fact that he had nearly hexed her into next week.

Draco had, too.

But they kept having to work on the damn Cabinet, gateway for a murder that the target himself was sanctioning. Nothing was working, so Perseus kicked the damn thing, snarling at it as he started to magically strip away the charms he'd overlaid. He was starting to think it would've been easier to build a new one from scratch.

Two new ones!

By the time he was ready to leave the Room of Requirement, it was well into the period for supper. He was tired and pissy and generally poor company, and so he decided to make his way to the kitchens instead. It was a good plan, a fantastic plan, and yet it was utterly foiled by the fact that he was nose to nose with Hermione Granger when he walked out of the Room and into the hall.

"Oh!" At least she had the sense to pretend that she hadn't been waiting for him, stalking him even. Potter kept randomly interrogating Draco as if asking a question differently would get him a more palatable answer.

At least Potter left him alone, but he seemed to have appointed her to stalk him. "What? What in Merlin's beard do you want?"

She was looking at him, all serious face and ridiculous curly hair. He wanted to bear his teeth at her and growl, particularly when she pursed her lips and glanced up and down the corridor. "Perhaps you would prefer that we continue our conversation more privately."

Oh, Merlin. Of course the stupid idiot couldn't keep a secret, no, he had to tell his little band of friends. "Bugger. Fine, where? Quick, before I lose my patience and hex you."

The threat in no way dissuaded her. "If you turn around, I expect you and I will have as much privacy as we could ask for."

"I really hate you." He exhaled slowly, and turned, passing back through the Room of Requirement, because since they both required quiet, she'd be able to pass through. Madness, the things Hogwarts did, and they were back in the cluttered huge storage space again.

"You know," Granger began, "you fooled me altogether last year. I expect Malfoy had a great deal to do with that. Does he know?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He leaned against the pile of rocking chairs, which he'd already decided was structurally stable after Draco had whipped a side table at it and it hadn't crushed them to death. "And I think I have enough to deal with without you cornering me for random cross-house peace talks."

"So he doesn't know, then. Interesting." She looked at him thoughtfully, head tilting to the side. "I suspect that Harry has gotten himself wrapped up in whatever it is the two of you are doing. Well, that or he's mooning over Malfoy since he seems to twitch a bit when he sees you for some reason."

"Do you never think that one day your curiosity is going to get you killed?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "I still don't know what you're going on about, either. Do I need to be here for this? You seem to be carrying this conversation quite well without me."

"Professor, I think it's long past time for you to stop pretending. I just want to know." Because the stupid cow didn't have the good sense to come in out of the firestorm, clearly. "Harry won't say anything, Ron is suspicious of both of you, and I can't help if no one tells me anything!"

Damned Gryffindors.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I don't think you're in any position to help even if I tell you ever bloody gory detail. And how on earth did you jump to such a bizarre conclusion?"

"Your speech patterns, for one. Does someone in Slytherin House give lessons in amateur dramatics, by the way? Or perhaps it is simply an ingrained talent." She paused. "Also, I did some research in the library's genealogy section, and ran across a copy of _Attacks of Consciousness: A Tale of a Wizard in Crisis_ , which detailed a similar situation during the eighteenth century. Of course, the book implied that the...." Here, she stumbled. "...ah, host? Would of course have to be a blood relative, preferably patrilineal or matrilineal in nature, and that it would likely be entirely unsuccessful if any remnant of the original soul lingered behind..."

He grimaced behind his hand. It had apparently been possible for his day to get worse, clearly. "I'm going to leave your theorizing where it lay, as clearly nothing will dissuade you. Draco and I are... supporting the Order in the best way we can. There's been an Unbreakable Vow made. I suspect that's all you really need to know to get the both of us killed, so if you're done...?"

"But that's exactly the point!" Granger threw up both of her hands. "I feel sure that Harry is trying to help, and in order to keep him out of trouble, I am morally obligated to find out what is going on!" She gave a huff of breath. "Honestly, sometimes I believe this sort of prevarication is attached to the Y chromosome."

Whatever that was when it was at home.

"I don't give a flying Niffler about how morally obligated you are to be a nosy bint. I'm trying very hard to serve two masters and survive, and I don't need extra, useless interference, do you understand?" And if she kept going on, he was going to show her the damned Dark Mark because he was willing to bet she'd never seen one of those in actuality before, except for the one Bellatrix wore, with her shirt sleeves up to her tits, and her arms flailing the whole time.

What was it about Gryffindors that they all felt so morally obligated to interfere and then acted as though their feelings had been mauled by a Blast-Ended Skrewt when they were told to stuff it? Granger's chin notched up a bit and she took in a deep breath. "Fine. But I seem to recall hearing the two of you muttering about Charms recently, so I suppose you will figure it all out on your own, then."

"It's a Vanishing Cabinet. It's broken." He shifted off of his lean against the pile of broken rocking chairs. "We're going to kill the headmaster, you see. But it's all right. He knows. He just wants to be appraised of when our progress towards his murder's actually gotten some traction." It could've been too much adrenaline, or too much of... something that made him say things that weren't wise, but he'd never been a wise or prudent man and it hadn't come with age or increased experience.

He was pretty sure he couldn't keep blaming hormones, either.

She looked at him, and for once he just enjoyed it. He was fairly certain that he had never seen that particular expression of completely boggled on her before. "Well," she finally managed, "I suppose that I was asking for that. Had I ought to even ask about the... no, clearly not." She pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes shut tightly. "All right. Let's see the Cabinet then."

Great.

"It's this way. Now I'm curious what you don't want to know." He had the upper hand for a moment, though he was probably going to lose it fast.

"So many things," she offered with a sigh, and they trekked more deeply into the room. Surrounded by Gryffindors, unable to get the Cabinet working, staring Christmas in the face and they still hadn't managed to kill the headmaster.

Clearly this was not his year. Or his decade. Or, in fact, his anything at all.

Bugger.

* * *

  
He was going to have to do something.

Draco supposed he could be crude about it; there were a lot of phrases for the position he found himself in, but what it all came down to was that if he put it off anymore, the Dark Lord would probably have both of them for breakfast.

And possibly lunch.

"I suppose if gets to him it'll work." Perseus was rubbing at a spot just to the side of his eye socket, as if it would at all help to ease the sort of headache they were carrying.

"Well, if you've got a better idea, I'm all for it." It was sloppy. They both knew it was sloppy, but it was better to be thought sloppy and fail trying something than it was to accomplish something at the moment.

"Poisoned wine?" That was a half-assed sort of idea, but it could also be effective, he supposed. The only problem was that Dumbledore was very much the sort to share with the gifter, Draco figured, and then there would go their attempt at actually trying to murder him. Unless he was really interested in murder by student as some sort of interesting historical footnote for later generations.

"Well, Mother sent it. I've seen it in Borgin and Burke's before, so I'm betting she's not the only one aware of its current location. I say we... drop it on a Hogsmeade weekend on the path, give it a charm so it'll get delivered and hope for the best. Or possibly the worst. Fuck." Fuck, and they were stressed out and bloody miserable and he couldn't remember the last time they'd spent time together _not_ working on something.

Scheming, plotting, but Yule was coming, hanging over both of their heads, and Draco never wanted to do that again. He had the fear of anticipation, of memories lingering out of their tidy boxes in the back of his head, of the strained look on Perseus's face because when they were both hurting neither one of them was really in any shape to doctor the other and Draco never wanted to have to have his own mother tend to that sort of thing again.

"Look." He licked his lips. "We've got three weeks. We'll try it, probably fail, and okay, Christmas will be a misery. But we've got to take a few days not to think about this or worry about it or neither one of us will be worth a damn. I can't... keep my thoughts where they belong as tired as we are, and they bloody well need to be where they belong."

"Right. Charm it, ditch it on some poor magpie, and whatever happens after that happens." At least Perseus was in agreement there, even if he looked a bit of a wreck. He had a long list of ideas why Perseus was bothered about the idea of murdering the headmaster, but if the man was asking for it, well. It was sort of more of a mercy killing, not that it helped. Not that thinking helped at all.

"You look like you're about three steps from snapping."

Draco looked up at him, realizing that he'd drifted into thought for a moment. "Yes, well, you don't look any better, thanks."

Perseus snorted and smiled, and leaned against the desk that Draco had laid the carefully boxed necklace on, because neither of them needed to touch it and accidentally drop dead. "I'm tired of Charms. Let's use _Imperio_."

That was more like it, and suddenly he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he had kissed him, but now seemed like the most perfect time of all. "Mmm, I do love it when you say wretchedly horrible things that you don't actually mean. Much."

They'd spent so much of the last few weeks fighting or working, flat out, trying in and around classes, that it had all gotten to be too much trouble. "No, I do mean it," Perseus insisted, leaning in. Great minds thought alike.

"Even better." And oh. That was good, too, soft mouth, teasing tongue. Definitely tongue, and it seemed that now was as good a time as any. The taste of Perseus on his lips made him want, and for quite some time, Draco hadn't thought that he would ever want anything again. He'd probably feel the same after Christmas, so clearly they should take the opportunity now.

Just a little, just a tiny bit. "We need to get our own room. Blast out a space just for us..." But until then there was the familiarity of curtains and _Lumos_ spells and Perseus pulling Draco's necktie loose while he tasted at Draco's mouth.

"There's always the Room. I mean, at some point it's got to give up something better than a whopping huge storage closet." A bed would be nice. A properly sized bath.

An infinite amount of time, stretching into forever without one of them dying.

"Tends to be keyed to anxiety, probably just keep giving us a furniture dump." He slid Draco's necktie loose, let it fall to the floor. It was easy for Draco to stand when Perseus stood, pulling him backwards towards Draco's bed. Just as well since Perseus's looked like a desk, piled with books.

This was good. This was necessary, and Draco went with him, crawling into his bed when they reached it, scrabbling in backwards so that Perseus could come in after him. "We'll think about it later." Much later, with any hope.

Perseus pulled the curtains, and settled in, kneeling beside Draco for a long moment before he leaned in to kiss him again. He could just go with it, enjoy whatever he got, whatever he could take, refresh the memory that doing that could feel damn good. Better than good, even, because Perseus was always aware of everything it seemed, how they moved together, what each twitch of reaction meant. Even now, after everything, Perseus was careful not to make him feel trapped, caught in something he couldn't stop if he wanted to call a halt to it. He was draped over Draco's left side more or less, his knee between Draco's, thighs pressed close. It felt so good, and he had nearly forgotten this, the electric thrill of a body, of having someone he wanted touching him and making him hard.

Taking his time, stroking fingers over Draco's body, slow kisses. Nothing hurt, and nothing was too forceful, just lingering, like it had been when Draco had been all nerves about the whole sex thing at the onset.

He was still all nerves sometimes; but not like this, and he curled himself in towards Perseus, opened his mouth, let him in, and it was good. It was so good he almost couldn't believe it was possible, or that he wanted it this much, except that he did. God, he did, and he moaned into it, pushing up to rub against him, to show it.

Hard and wanting it, making it easy to squirm out of his clothes, to let Perseus slide a hand inside his shirt to pet at his stomach. "So good. You feel so good..."

If they were going to get caught anyway, might as well have this. Might as well have something good, and it was so much more than that. Hands on his belly, up his ribs, and Merlin, they should have gotten undressed before they'd crawled into the bed. Never mind his own hands, tugging at sweater vest and shirt buttons, and he thought for a moment that they'd get so tangled up they wouldn't be able to go any further along. "Fuck. Fuck, Perseus, I want...." Things he hadn't wanted since last spring, and maybe it was their recklessness or maybe it was just them altogether. He didn't know.

He just _needed_.

Perseus laughed, quiet, happy, and leaned back just long enough to pull his own sweater vest and shirt up over his head in one go, neck tie caught around his head for a moment before he tossed it past the curtains across the room. "Much better." Incredibly better, in fact. He hated to think what the others would think if they came in, and seriously considered hexing the door to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted. They were giddy with the idea of stealing time for once, taking it whether it was there to be had or not. Giddy and nervous, because he realized that he'd made a decision without actually making it and he was pulling at the closure of his trousers, tugging down the zip and stripping himself off altogether. It wasn't as if Perseus hadn't seen it all, anyway. Repeatedly and in intimate details in non-sexual ways. Perseus squirmed out of his own trousers, button fronts that he swore were comfortable, and then it was bare skin against his left side, and Perseus sliding up the length of his body to kiss his neck. "Still gorgeous to me."

Even with all of the silvery lines, some of them still pink. Even with the Mark, and Draco dropped his head back and let out a heavy sigh. "I think it would be fair to say that the feeling is mutual." More than just that feeling, in all honesty.

"Flattery isn't required," Perseus teased, sucking just below his adam's apple, enough to make Draco squirm. He stretched a leg a little, rubbing against Perseus's thigh, and their hips were close, nearly perfectly so. He had barely remembered this sort of pleasure, that it was possible. It was enough to make him forget, to make both of them discount their current situation and remain in this moment, in the place of now.

"Not required," he gasped, shivering as Perseus's mouth traced the winging line of his collarbone, pressed a delicate kiss into the hollow of his throat. "But not flattery. 's truth."

He gave another quiet laugh, and then hummed a little as he followed that kiss with a trace of his tongue. "I missed you..." Missed and wanted, because Draco could feel his erection.

"Which is funny, since... Ohhh. Oh, that's..." Not just lovely, but it made him shiver, made him stroke his hands from the back of Perseus's neck to the middle of his back, thumb stroking over the knobs of his spine. "That's perfect. That's...." What he wanted.

"Mmmh." Perseus stretched his shoulders, sighing as he stroked his fingers along Draco's sides. Idle touch, stroking and swirling over his skin while Perseus sucked small sensitive spots and pressed light kisses in with pointed strokes of his tongue. Just a lazy, slow build, and Draco didn't care where it went.

He just wanted, so much. Wanted, and wanted to forget, wanted to feel, and he moaned and rubbed his leg against Perseus's, the faint rasp of hair under his foot when he moved, realizing ridiculously that he was still wearing one sock. He wasn't even exactly sure where the other one had went, and that made him laugh. "Oh."

"Mine." Well, yes, because Draco wanted it to be so. He shifted his hips a little, hands on Draco's. "What... what would be too much?"

As if he could know for sure. He didn't, and he wasn't sure what to say about it. "Perhaps we could go with... it's too much when I say stop?" He wanted for it to be all right. Draco wanted it to be something else, something that it hadn't been in too long. He wanted it to be the way it should, even if it scared him half to death along the way. "And maybe it should be the same for you, all things considered."

After all, Perseus played very well at calm control, but Draco had seen him spin right up a wall a time or two. "Right. Okay. That's almost too simple." He was smiling, though, and leaning in to kiss Draco again, still canted a little to one side because neither of them liked being pinned down much.

Then again, it might be different for them, just them. Them and nothing but things that felt good, and he stroked his hand around to Perseus's hips and stroked his tongue into his mouth to taste him, warm and tasting of chocolate and wine. He couldn't imagine where he had found the wine, although for some reason he kept hordes of chocolate in random places. "Simple, I think is good," he murmured against Perseus's lips.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we just, if." Perseus hesitated, and kissed the edge of Draco's mouth, biting the edge just faintly enough to make Draco groan and want more. He huffed. "If it were just us. That first time."

He ducked his head, turned it into Perseus's throat and told the truth. "All the time."

Mostly he remembered the sound Perseus had made when his thigh had come out of its socket.

"We could." That, yes, they could, even if only stroking and kisses and touches were good just as it were. They could rub off on each other, or he could just kiss Perseus for hours until Vincent and Gregory came back.

They could do anything, and he let out a sigh, pressed his lips to the throb of that pulse, and gave a faint nod of agreement. "Yeah. Yes." They could. They would.

He wanted to. He wanted to, just because he wondered what it felt like when he wasn't scared or in pain, and when Perseus's hands were sliding down his back instead of anyone else's. "Right. Let me..." He twitched his wand out from where it was in the bedding, and it had to have been an _Accio_ , yanking something out of Perseus's drawer across the way.

"What on earth have you been hiding in there? And where have you been hiding the wine, by the way?" Most people hid Firewhiskey or mead or cider. The fact that Perseus hid wine made him want to laugh.

"Your sock drawer." Perseus held up a tiny phial that was faintly purple. It smelled of licorice when he unstoppered it. "I think this might be the best slick ever. I didn't get it use it last year, didn't suspect I'd need it over the summer."

"My sock drawer." That was hysterically funny. It was what he got for stealing Perseus's socks, but he liked them better than his own. Clearly he needed to go rooting around to see what was in there. Draco licked his lips, thinking most seriously about socks, and the smell of licorice, faintly bitter and sweet all at once. "All right."

Perseus lifted his eyebrows at Draco, an almost ridiculous gesture before he poured a little of the oil or whatever it was onto his palm. The feel of Perseus's slicked palm sliding over his own erection was thrilling, so very smooth, and even better when Perseus pressed his own hips down and rubbed his dick along Draco's. "See?"

"Oh my god." Oh god, because clearly, _clearly_ this was the best stuff ever. Ever, and the... the summer, during then, there had never been anything so nice. Never anything so slick, and he moaned, pushing up to that touch, a shiver with pleasure. It had been too long since anything felt that good, and he didn't know if he would last. He didn't need to last. They could do it over and over again, until someone came in and they had to be quiet. For the moment, he could moan and thrust and just feel, Perseus pressing against him, trading kisses. Slow and sweet, and rocking into that hand until he couldn't bear it anymore, couldn't keep the pleasure from rippling over him, and he came.

Almost too much slow and sweet to savour. Perseus stretched out against his side, fingers only gently rubbing then, making sensitive skin ache in good ways. He was still hard, but that would be easy to handle. "Good, isn't it?"

Draco blinked at him and shifted to capture his mouth, kissing him slow and lazy, hands idling everywhere he could reach. Down his side, around his hip, one arm drawing him in closer... yes. "Yes." If Perseus would give him ten minutes, they could go again, but ten minutes might be too many. "Do you want me to...?" And then they could both try again when ten minutes had passed.

"Anything." Anything, and he just wanted to feel, to reciprocate, to touch Perseus and make him squirm, groan. A touch too heavy over his hip bone made him shudder, exhaling against Draco's mouth. "Please."

Anything covered a lot of territory, and for all that he didn't want to think too much, Draco had learned a great deal since this time last year. He couldn't keep from smiling as he pushed Perseus onto his back and slid down, placing random kisses on interesting bits as he passed by them, stopping to nip at the skin just below his navel.

He felt the muscles tighten beneath his lips, Perseus struggling not to thrust up his hips. His eyes were open and he was watching Draco, hands still petting over his shoulders, the back of his neck. "Yes. Yes, that feels good..."

Very good, he hoped, because he felt the head of Perseus's dick bump against his chin, and then he made his way down and closed his lips over it, looking up to see the reaction.

"Oh, fuck." One hand halfway to covering his mouth, eyes half closed, lips open, Perseus strained not to move and didn't, didn't thrust up to Draco's mouth hardly at all, just held twitchily still. It was a powerful sense of control, and so he brought up his hands and put one on a hip, the other stroking behind his mouth. The taste of the lubricant was a lot like licorice, too, and he hummed, and lowered his head to take in more. Just a little more, and he kept watching because that was so good. It was fantastic to watch Perseus struggle with his reaction, in a pleasant way. He was holding back, feeling so much, so very good, and he was trying not to thrust, just letting Draco do what he wanted at his own pace. "Please..."

Please. That sounded amazing, and Draco sucked a little harder, careful of his teeth, tongue rubbing firmly at the underside. He didn't go all the way down -- didn't want the feeling of being choked, of being unable to breathe -- but he could use his hand, could rub a thumb against the skin that covered his hip, and breathe. Breathe, and that made him whine because it was better than anything.

Fantastic, the faint rocking thrusts Perseus was giving, the way his left leg twitched a little, almost uncontrolled while his fingertips stroked over Draco's shoulders. "Uhn. So close, so close, Draco, please, a little more."

A little more, and he could do that, he could so do that, finally closing his eyes and just giving in, enjoying himself as much doing this as he had anything else, ever.

Perseus was clean and he tasted warm beneath the licorice, heated skin and the faintly murky taste of semen when he finally gave in and thrust his hips up abortively, moaning. Draco swallowed, because he'd learned better than to spit, but this was definitely beyond that. Beyond almost anything. It was like having control and like not having it all at once, and when he finally let go to press his lips against the crease of one thigh, he was almost giddy with that realization.

He felt Perseus's thigh muscles twitch, and heard him sigh. "Merlin, that was amazing." Yes, yes it was, and Draco wanted to do it a hundred times over, in all sorts of variations. That and maybe more, and he hummed, and laid his head against Perseus's belly, letting loose a sigh.

"Yeah," he agreed, hand stroking up and down his thigh, slow and careful. He licked his lips, swallowed, and said, "I want to do it again. And...." How best to say it? "Anything else."

"Anything else." Perseus stretched, fingers rubbing at the back of Draco's neck. "I'm almost afraid to say it."

He was, too. "Yeah, well. You know. What it's like, when it's not." When it wasn't horrible. Too horrible to contemplate, truthfully. "We could work up to it or something." So at least if he died horribly, they'd have had honest to god sex with one another before that happened.

Real sex, sex he wanted to remember. Perseus tugged at him, pulling Draco up even with himself again. "Think we have another hour or so before anyone even dares come back in here." Because when they'd left, he and Severus had been snarling at one another, right. They'd been wild-eyed and two steps from wands at dawn, but they wouldn't do that, not ever, and Draco nuzzled against his shoulder, then his throat. He wasn't hard again yet, but. Either of them could probably be hard again within the next four minutes, sooner if a stiff breeze whipped through the room.

"Think they probably won't come back for longer," he offered quietly.

Perseus was smiling when he kissed Draco again. "Then let's see how far we get toward 'anything else'."

* * *

  
They had failed to kill Dumbledore.

The Cabinet still wasn't working, even if they had help from that wretched know-it-all Gryffindor bint.

Draco was back to looking wild-eyed and twitchy, but then, he had spent the first twelve hours back at Malfoy Manor in the Silver Chamber alone. Perseus had the pleasure of that same benevolence staring him in the face if they lived through the night.

It left him at an odd end -- wanting to survive the night and not wanting to survive the night, knowing that living, living was always best, except... except anticipation of what was coming was maddening, and he'd only just patched Draco up before they'd been given the orders to get out their best brooms. They'd flown the better part of the afternoon heading straight north, and none of them had dared to stop. Then again, Bellatrix and Rodolphus were with them, so Perseus was fairly certain they'd have ended up dead if they had even tried. He had wondered if they would just keep flying, but they had stopped in Newcastle Upon Tyne for something hot before she had them in the air again.

There weren't many of them -- twelve at the most -- but they were damnably vicious, and determined behind the molded bone of their masks. Narcissa was with them, and she had more steel in her spine than most of them combined, Perseus thought.

Possibly more than he had himself.

He'd never liked, never trusted the missions that were that sort, the _go off in that direction and I'll tell you when to stop_ missions, because they usually ended in cast hexes and bloodshed. If nothing else, he was going to be able to make a gory report to Dumbledore when they got back to Hogwarts... if Dumbledore was still alive. The old man looked like he was on his last leg, and he sounded worse. McGonagall was trying to cover for him, but he knew it wouldn't be long at all. What they would do then was anyone's guess, but he was fairly certain that they had better get the damned Cabinet working.

Wind whistled cold and sharp against his bare hands and throat, the salt brine of the water below making the chill seem worse. Any exposed skin would be wind-burned before it was all said and done, and he glanced back as if he could see Draco behind him, all stiff postured determination. Just a glimpse, just a look to check that he was still upright on his broom, that he was still conscious. Draco was a natural on a broom, agile, at ease with it to the point that Perseus thought that Draco could very well have flown while asleep, or even dying. It made him nervous, even as their target came into view.

His stomach dropped, because he'd known what it was going to be, he'd guessed in the back of his chest, somewhere behind his heart because he knew that place, he knew it too well, and if he focused he could see the death-wisps circling it, Dementors fat on misery.

"In formation!" Bellatrix yelled, and that clearly meant something to all of the rest of them. He hated feeling left out and stupid, but it meant that he ended up to the rear with Draco, Narcissa just behind them, and at least there was that small favor for which to be grateful.

It was a shock to the system when the Dementors parted ways around them, swirling up and around, letting them in as easily as anything, and that made him a bit sick, too.

He remembered when they'd gotten the Dementors on their side the last time, the rampage that had set off the need for things like Vanishing Cabinets. Wizarding life in the isles had stopped, backpedaled, and Voldemort had almost done it all, gotten it all. The Dementors were such a powerful ally.

There were still guards on the island, though Perseus knew they'd probably die soon. He leaned forward along his broom, and focused on gaining speed to keep up with the rest of the group. They'd have to land on the roof and blow their way in, or...

When it came, he nearly reacted too late, just barely skirting the broken rocks and shale that the rest of the group whipped around. He wasn't surprised to realize that Draco was below him, now, flying upside down for a horrifying moment before he was properly seated again, and then they were in, some sort of explosive spell caving in the side of the prison so that they could enter.

Unbelievable. Perseus pulled up, slowing as he passed through the actively crumbling wall and into a cell that had its door blown off. He shrunk his broom, and stuck it in his pocket, wand at the ready as Draco came in for a landing. He was there to protect Draco and survive, and that was it. Bugger the entire lot of them aside from that, and he made sure not to leave any of the adult Death Eaters at their backs.

Narcissa was already moving, wand in hand as if she knew precisely where to go. The others were spreading out, but Draco followed his mother, and so Perseus went along as well.

There were quite a few people in cells -- the usual crimes, he supposed, rape and murder and inappropriate actions involving goats and minor demons. They passed them by with surgical precision, and he wasn't surprised when he heard her stop and hiss a spell that was only half-heard, and better that way. The door dissolved, and Lucius stumbled through the open doorway.

He was weak and thin and mad-looking, and still stumbling when Narcissa slid her arm around him to prop him up. That was enough for Perseus -- as far as he was concerned, they could all go home now, mission complete. He could hear the others ranging through the prison, could hear the shouts from guards, could almost feel them die on the sharp, emotionally charged air. All around them, cries and pleas and fury, and he shifted closer to Draco as they began to make their way back to the hole that led out into the North Sea.

"It's all right, darling. It's going to be fine, Draco is here with me, yes, and we'll be fine. We're going home now, Lucius. Be strong for me."

Broom out again -- there was really nothing Perseus could say or do except to keep his eyes on everything but the three of them as Draco moved in to flank his father. Lucius looked like hell, a sort of hell Perseus half-remembered and half-couldn't, didn't want to remember. Only he'd been in longer this time, and it showed, skin grey, eyes hollow. He wasn't even sure Lucius was comprehending that Narcissa was at his side.

They were almost back at the gap when Perseus saw the first guard coming from the other direction. His wand was out before he could think, and he was halfway through the thought that would curse him when Narcissa beat him and Draco both. " _Stupefy_!"

Simple, effective, and non-lethal. He had always liked Narcissa; she tended to get what she wanted, and somehow always made it look easy even when it was not. Draco was holding up his father, eyes glittering and silvery behind his mask, and so Severus stepped back to be closer to him even as Narcissa moved forwards to protect them. He wasn't sure anyone had ever done that for him, and it made him a bit paranoid, as if it wasn't bad enough already.

No one ever protected him -- it was sort of an assumed, a given, that he wanted to protect others but never to expect the favour be returned. It was probably just a fluke, and he needed to keep an eye on their backs as they headed to leave. No sign of Bellatrix, of the others -- was that the plan?

Bugger the plan. He didn't give two damns for it, all he wanted to do was get out and away from Azkaban and the Dementors as soon as possible. They moved constantly, ranging out and through the corridors they had entered. It wasn't long before they were at the cracked open section of rock, and Narcissa pushed Lucius at Draco gently.

"Keep him on his broom," she bade with stern voice, and Draco obeyed without question. He helped his father mount, cast sticking charms to his hands and feet, and got him in the air.

"What about you?" he asked, waffling between staying with her and going with Lucius.

Perseus halfway wanted to shout _What the bloody fuck are we doing?_ Instead he turned, not looking at Lucius and Draco, but keeping an eye to the hallway instead. If they were going, they were going, home, to safety, and they needed to go. He trusted Draco could do that.

He was glad he'd kept his back to her, because he downed a guard with a _Stupefy_ , following Narcissa's lead on that.

"You're a very bright young man," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. "If this ends badly...."

Yes.

"Take him and go!" Narcissa ordered Draco, and he set up a tether before shooting up into the sky and the whipping clouds above, avoiding the yawning maw of the skull that was forming directly over Azkaban.

Now it made sense what he and Narcissa were doing -- covering for each escape, waiting and holding the safe point for every Death Eater to come back, and they'd be the last to go. He'd done that before, knew how it went, and once it had clicked it made so much more sense. He could hear the sounds of fighting deeper in Azkaban -- spells exploding, light flashing deep in the prison, rocks flying, and over it all, Bellatrix, laughing and laughing as if the end of the world could come and still all she would do was find it amusing.

" _Stupefy_!" This was the reason the Death Eaters did so well, in the end. the Ministry had a right lot of idiots filling its positions. They just picked them off, one at a time, over and over. Narcissa caught the next one, and then two came in together and managed to get some decent curses through, one leaving Perseus's arm stinging. Still, nothing harrowing. He wondered if they were stumbling across their hold point by sheer accident not to be putting up any strong attacks.

By the time the other Death Eaters came back, a motley assembly of inmates trailed along after them looking even worse off than Lucius, and that was saying something. Perseus had seen potioned up whores who looked better than he had, although the sight of Bellatrix answered the question of why they were only getting people stumbling across them. Her robes were saturated with unpleasant things, and he was fairly certain he saw a bit of someone's liver or spleen or something dripping off of her elbow. "In the wind!"

All they had to do was hold the place until they all left, inmates and Death Eaters all, one by one.

As he watched them stream through, Perseus realized that Lucius wouldn't even have known who had him, who'd freed him and who was riding with him, until Draco took his mask off. They hadn't been Death Eaters when he'd been imprisoned. Perseus hadn't even met him yet. "Nine... Ten. That's it, you first," Perseus offered Narcissa, back still to the hole.

It shocked him when her hand touched his elbow and she pushed him closer. "No, quickly now." Quickly, and her broom was growing to size in her hand because even the Dark Lord's Apparition spells weren't enough to get them in and out of Azkaban, which certainly explained the flight north, in any case. He supposed if he had been thinking about it instead of worrying, he would have realized, and it made him just a bit distracted as they got in the air.

He didn't expect the bolt of fire that shot out at them, only heard the roar of it coming at them, turned and threw out a shielding spell that wasn't quite enough, with his broom veering off course. It deflected away from Narcissa, and he was still looking backwards as the last oncoming spray of miserable, desperately thrown curses and hexes started to rain at them. His flying skills were up to random referee sorts of duties; they weren't anything like Draco's, or that bloody damned Potter's, for that matter. Narcissa was flat against her own, rising rapidly, shifting and darting from side to side unpredictably. He tried to mimic that, to some extent, but he knew he wasn't moving fast enough.

When the spell hit him, it wasn't altogether surprising.

He kept a hand on the handle, a small miracle when the rest of his body was off of it, and his leg was numb. It didn't really matter that there was water beneath them, because water hit like concrete at that height. He started to cast a panicked cushioning spell, but the spark pop _noise_ of spells now clearly targeted at just him was too much. It was all going straight to hell and he was going to die when he hit the water, and then there was a hand in the back of his robes, almost catching him, almost.

Almost.

He hit the water violently, felt himself breaking apart. He couldn't help the automatic gasp inward so that he could scream only he was choking on water instead, drowning, fuck, he was....

Still holding his broom, still holding his wand, even if the long Death Eater robes were weighing him down, and the mask closed off his world. The water was a cold sharp shock of pain shattering through him, but it made him flail as best as he could, getting his head above water to breath air and not seawater, choking and struggling when a hand grabbed at his wrist again.

Draco.

He could see the tether that held Lucius, stretched out for a small eternity. There were still hexes flying, spells shattering in the water, and it was clear that Draco didn't give a damn. He had out his wand and there was maybe a levitation spell or maybe something else, and he was out of the water, making his way onto Draco's broom with him. That would slow them down too much, and he wanted to say as much, but he couldn't seem to do more than choke. Choke and cough and hold on, because his own broom was nothing more than a handle anymore, something to drop in the water because there wasn't time to fix it, they'd just have to make do, and they had to _move_ before the Ministry caught on to them. When they hit land they could Apparate, that was always an option, except it was Yule, and the Trace, fuck, the Trace.

"Hang on!" Draco yelled at him, and he realized there was a tether attaching him, too, and he wouldn't dare a lightening charm because his charms were shit and he'd be worried he would hurt Perseus even worse.

So Perseus wove the lightening charm one handed, other arm looped around Draco's waist to hold on. He could feel when it caught, when their speed seemed to pick up immensely, though they were still trailing the rest of the Death Eaters. The tether between Draco and his father had faded, so he figured that Narcissa had taken it up instead, and it surprised him that she wasn't waiting for them in the air. Then again, he wasn't able to concentrate all that well, so he blinked and time went missing, the sea changed, the air, and suddenly there was land below them and Draco was bringing his broom down in a steep dive, almost terrifyingly fast.

He wanted to react before he could process what was going on, wanted to throw out a buffer, wanted to stop the dive, but Draco was still tense and alert and awake. Perseus could feel it under his arm, the way Draco's back shifted consciously when he finally got himself to focus past the cold and the concentration failures.

"Duck!" he yelled, and he was clearly counting on the fact that Perseus was awake enough, alive enough, to obey. The broom came down hard and fast, and the cushioning charm wasn't enough, fuck, it wasn't. It wasn't, but he managed to hold back the scream, even if maybe he blacked out a bit along the way. When he came to, Draco was using his hands, casting wandless spell after wandless spell, charms, protections, shit Perseus hadn't even known that he knew, and the tiny crevice of a hidey-hole they were in seemed to be sealing up around them. Not effectively, no; the patching was thin at best but it was enough to hold off their pursuers for a few moments longer.

He closed his eyes, savouring the blessed unbelievable momentary silence, breathing hard. He was still soaked to the skin, to the bone, and hurting, aching, but they were both alive. "Where... where are we?" Draco was throwing up a small _Lumos_ spell from magic-burned fingers, his hands channeling the magic to keep the Trace from kicking in.

"Somewhere on the coast. I haven't got a clue, but I took the opportunity to make it look like we crashed. Skimmed the ground for a few miles and I've gotten us holed up pretty well. It's the best I can do." He looked pale and afraid in the light of Perseus's wand, but he knelt down beside him. "You're a fucking mess."

"Probably. You saved me." He would've drowned, and as it was he'd swallowed seawater and inhaled it and he knew there were broken bones. Still, it felt almost jaunty, with Draco panting and looking over his shoulder at the earth he'd sealed in behind them. "Give me a few minutes to... to think, we can make a portkey."

"More like I let you fall. We've got a few moments' grace, for fuck's sake. Gather yourself and let me..." Draco's mask was off, and he realized that his was gone, too, lost somewhere along the way. " _Ferula_. _Episkey_."

He hissed as bones snapped back into place, suddenly splinted up the way they needed to be, set and supported. "Bugger, that hurts. Someone needs to make a healing spell that doesn't hurt."

"Yeah, well, most people likely have a certified medical professional and the proper potions." The short, snappy sound of it made him blink and look at Draco. His mien had gotten sharper in the light, brows drawn in together as though in anger. It wasn't that, though; it was worry more like, and he was casting all sorts of spells, and really. The Death Eaters were more effective at scaring the proper usage of spells right into a person than a gross complement of school teachers ever could be.

Necessity and rage were effective teachers, Perseus knew. He exhaled, twisting a little, grabbing hold of a rock to weave a _Portus_ spell into. It would take a minute or two, and it was about as illegal as _Cruciatus_. As illegal as breaking into the Ministry prison and stealing their Dementors along with a few prisoners, so Perseus wasn't going to give a damn. "'s all right. Nobody died."

"And it was a bloody fucking close call, in point of fact. You damned near did." Damned near, and Draco's hands were shaking on him. "You can't die on me a..." He stopped. "You just can't."

He inhaled, closed his eyes for a moment. He let the stone fall beside him, a shaking blue shimmer setting into its core. Perseus knew he hadn't hallucinated that stop, that hesitation. "Don't think about it. You didn't let me drown."

"I didn't catch you, either." He felt Draco's shaking hands touch him, thumb smoothing over his brow bone. "I should have caught you. Potter could have." He hadn't even spat it out, just made it a statement of fact.

"He wouldn't have bothered." He was still having trouble focusing on much past a moment or so, past the portkey and Draco's miserable expression when he opened his eyes. "Key's active. I think we can go on to the manor now." Before they dug up the hole to recover their bodies.

Draco licked his lips and snatched up his mask. Thank Merlin the magic that molded it to their faces dispersed when it was removed, or the Ministry would likely be making some sort of plaster replication of his face in short order. "Are you sure you can bear it?"

"No." He said it with a smirk, waiting for Draco to get close enough to touch the key and he held it out to him. He was aching desperately, his entire body shivering and cold, and maybe he was going into shock. Probably he was, even, but they had to leave or be caught, and they could both feel the vague touch of magic digging at their crevice. "But let's get out of here, regardless."

"You are completely mad," Draco declared flatly, but he reached out and he took Perseus's hand, held it to his chest for just a moment. One moment, and then he let go and reached out to the stone in Perseus's hand. When his fingers touched it, the whole world disappeared in a violent jerk from somewhere in his midsection, and he thought that he screamed.

He knew he screamed when they landed, hard enough to bounce, the gardens of Malfoy Manor spread around them, and he passed out entirely for a few moments. Opened his eyes to see Draco crouching over him, pulling his robe off, cursing, to hear him trying a heart-restarting spell? "Don't, I'm..." All right, breathing, grinning wildly because surviving death was a rush, and they'd apparently beat everyone else home.

"You fucker!" Draco hissed it, furious and near tears. "You utter, utter bastard, don't you dare die on me!"

He exhaled, reaching up to pull Draco's mask off, still shaking. "Need to get inside. Not going to die. We made it." They made it, and Lucius was coming home, that was something, that was something Draco had wanted even if the circumstances were still horrible, even if they'd had to break into Azkaban.

"Come on." He was sheet pale but determined, and he lifted his wand, unafraid of the Trace now. " _Mobilicorpus_!"

A simple spell that held Perseus still while Draco hauled him along at a fast pace, back into the house. It wasn't like Hogwarts, where there was a mediwitch to fix things; it was just the two of them. And Narcissa and Lucius were who knew where, so many hours away.

There was the Dark Lord, too, Perseus supposed, if he really did want to die.

Draco was cursing under his breath, fast and furious. Cursing Potter, cursing Perseus, cursing his father. Short and vicious, but he cut himself off when they stepped into the kitchen. "Whimsy!"

"Yes, Master Draco?"

Perseus blinked, grimacing a little at the level of noise. He wasn't sure what use Draco was going to put a house-elf to, but if it ended up with him dry and warm with no broken bones, that was going to be fine. "You're to take Master Perseus upstairs. Help him as best you can and stay with him. Keep him hidden if at all possible, and in the meantime, you need to get Poppin to find us some Polyjuice. I don't care if you have to beg, borrow or steal to get it. You understand?" He looked at her grimly and glared when Perseus opened his mouth. "Shut it."

"Yes, master." Whimsey was a good house-elf, but Perseus could still pull a face at Draco despite his order to shut up.

"What're you planning?" And hide him? What new madness was that?

"Hide you," Draco answered, inflection grim. "The Dark Lord expects you in his chambers tonight. You're going to be there, even if it means us switching places. He'll be amused when he realizes that it isn't you, it's me pretending. I think...." More like hoped, which was bad. "...he'll find it amusing enough that he will let it pass and allow me to continue the game." Which meant a flask of Polyjuice, and it was a hell of a chance to take. "You can't go as you are and you know it."

No. No, no no. Perseus struggled, getting his wand in his hand firmly enough to break the Mobilicorpus. "Not going to let you take that risk. No, you've already..." He was supposed to protect Draco, that was what he was there for and not doing a very good job of to start with. "Just prop me up with potions, I won't have it."

Draco's mouth stretched in a grim smile. "It doesn't matter. You've not got the strength to do anything about it and the house-elves will make sure you're kept quiet and safe."

He sounded damned pleased with himself. Perseus was lucky he managed to get himself sitting upright, and standing wasn't much of a threat, or likely to happen. He leaned on an elbow, concentrating on breathing. "Just heal me. Don't make me stop you."

"Make you stop young Draco from doing what...?"

Oh, Merlin. He stopped breathing when he heard that very quiet, sibilant question, looking up to Draco's face and knowing that the Dark Lord was standing behind him.

He went very still, expression suddenly frightened, and the way he swallowed was audible. "We're back from Azkaban, my lord."

"I see that. Ahead of the others." That was waiting for an explanation, Perseus knew, begging one, and not to try to explain was going to be worse than explaining poorly.

Possibly he should have run off with the house elf, if walking had really been an option. "Curse knocked me off my broom, sir. We fell behind..." And he was still winded. Fuck. The Portkey had probably made it all worse.

"But Perseus... had a Portkey, my lord. I... we safely eluded the Aurors, sir." Fuck. What the hell was the Dark Lord doing in the kitchens anyway? It wasn't as if he had midnight cravings that went unsatisfied unless it was for Muggle blood and young Death Eaters to torture. Perseus closed his eyes, because Draco was trying very hard to be the adults they weren't, and neither of them were in a good place.

"I see that. And you, Perseus -- gravely injured, I assume, as you've made no effort to get off the floor in my presence?"

Cold and damp and dirty from their hide in the ground, as well. "I hit the water... very fast, sir. I'm still not sure what's broken." He'd always been shit at cataloging his own injuries, at handling them well.

Clearly he wasn't getting any better at it. "And young Draco thought that perhaps he could replace you for the evening. How droll."

"It was... a topic of discussion." Perseus swallowed, looking up at Draco and finally seeing how much of his neck he could move to look back at the Dark Lord. It hurt like buggery, which he knew quite well. "I wasn't going to let him, sir."

"Mmm." Voldemort's nonspecific hum was possible more terrifying than any sort of statement. "I find that terribly interesting." His hand came up to rest at the back of Draco's neck, thumbnail slicing open the skin slowly. Draco shuddered beneath that touch, head ducking down, breath shuddering loose. "I think the house-elves should deliver Perseus to my rooms where he belongs. As for you, young Malfoy..." The smile that twisted over that face was horrible. "I think I have a rather special evening in store for you."

"My lord..." Perseus managed to get up a little further, up onto his palm on one side. "Please. Draco was excellent at the raid, and wandless, he... doesn't deserve to be punished."

"Oh, no. It isn't at all for that, it's for lying to me, or attempting to do so." Voldemort smiled. "I found the attempt amusing in the extreme."

Draco licked his lips and looked straight ahead, clearly distancing himself already.

"Unfortunately for Mr. Malfoy, my amusement is not reason enough not to punish him for the attempt."

Fuck, fuck fuck. They should've stayed at Hogwarts, they should've just hidden, they should've, there were so many things they could've done except there they were. "Punish me instead. He was trying to help me serve you better, I can't..." Really even breathe, and his heart was starting to thud off on its own again, so perhaps he needed to ease back down to his elbow and not move.

"Whimsey." The Dark Lord was smiling. "Please take Mr. Averis to the Silver Chamber. Poplin can take Mr. Malfoy to the ballroom."

Begging wasn't going to work, and Perseus hated when they were separated, felt a spike of panic at the suggestion of ballroom, because the ballroom was big and a lot of people fit into it and it was for spectacles, for public displays of failures of disobedience, for killing Severus Snape. "Please, sir..."

The crack of elf magic sounded and he wasn't in the kitchen anymore. "Oh, Whimsey is sorry, Mister. Perseus. Whimsey is having to obey Him. Whimsey is getting to Master Draco's room and fetching potions and things, to help."

"Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, he's in the ballroom and I don't know what's happening." And he was on that damned fucking bed, and thirty seconds from just howling. He was in enough pain to howl. They should've just ported to Hogwarts, and turned tail and run.

"Whimsey is sending Poppin. Poppin is making sure Master Draco is not dying." It was a lie, meant as reassurance. It didn't help in any way, because there were Death Eaters coming, fresh escapees from Azkaban, and oh god. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

People who hadn't seen other humans in any normal way in at least a six months, who didn't know up from down but still remembered base responses. Perseus closed his eyes, and tried not to think, wished he had the minds ease because potions abuse was looking very tempting just then, delightful. "If he dies, I will kill you all before setting the house on fire."

Whimsey whimpered and nodded, looking from side to side frantically. "Yes, yes. Yes, I will talk to Poppin. Poppin will make sure, will be certain. Would be bad, would be worth all house-elves lives. Master Lucius is coming home, yes? Yes." Then she popped out of existence, gone for long moments.

Long enough for Perseus to sag back against the mattress and wait, and know. That Voldemort was downstairs arranging Draco as some party favour for the returning victors, and as scared as he was of all of it, all of it, he would've done anything to trade places with Draco just then. Anything not to have Draco there, facing that.

Whimsey was back in short order, although it seemed like forever. Phials and phials, all floating in the air behind her, and she began to pour them down his throat, one after another after another. He felt more and more numb with each one, and he tried to turn his face away when he realized she was adding mind's ease to the mix. "No!" the house-elf hissed. "Master Perseus must. You is not knowing what is coming. Master Perseus must!"

"I don't want to hallucinate!" Never mind that talking to a house-elf was a very similar feeling to hallucinating -- clipped conversations, paths he couldn't follow mentally because they weren't there, all sorts of bizarre things.

"Better you hallucinate than you know," she told him. "Master Draco tells Poppin, downstairs. Poppin tells Whimsey, Whimsey does as is told. Drink!"

He sputtered through one of them, but Whimsey got the upper hand and managed to get a second phial up to his mouth, and it was swallow or choke. It didn't take much, and the numbness swept over him thickly. It was sort of the best painkiller in the world, because he was in pain but it was standing off to the left. Whimsey looked damned pleased.

"Now, Master Draco will be pleased." Except not. Really not, because no one cursed to ballroom presentations was ever pleased. It was insanity to suggest that he might be, at all. Ever at all. "How are you feeling?"

Like he didn't particularly care what vertebra he'd fractured with the fall, of how his splinted leg was holding up beneath his robes. "Better." Distant. He was healing on some level, from the potions and that would have to be enough to get him through whatever was coming.

Whimsey nodded, her head going up and down, ears flapping, the little golden rings in them jingling. "Is time, then. Dark Lord says there is a spell casting. Whimsey is so sorry, Master Perseus. Is for the best you took all potions. Is better for you." She reached out and patted his hand. "I will make sure you is living, too."

He hadn't expected living to be at risk, nor for there to be spell casting. He barely started to form a question when Whimsey threw out her hands, above where she stood at the end of the bed, he could see a flat shimmer. The shimmer stretched wide, taller, like a mirror, and then stopped. He was looking at the fast gathering crowd in the ballroom, at the Dark Lord on his dais, at Draco standing at his side, mask in hand. He could see them all, could pick out Lucius's bedraggled form, Narcissa looking grim, exhausted, triumphant, Bellatrix gleefully chortling.

Nothing could possibly be good if Bellatrix found it amusing.

"Friends." Voldemort smiled, a broad, serpentine stretch of his mouth. "Welcome. Welcome to our new home, to Malfoy Manor."

Polite applause followed, some more enthusiastic than others. Perseus eyed the screen with the detachment of the mind's ease, waiting. He wasn't disappointed.

"You see standing before you one of our newest members. Say hello, young Malfoy."

He could hear the vague noise of nervousness Draco couldn't seem to help, and he could see that his eyes were off somehow. Perhaps Poppin had managed to slip him potions as well. Perseus was allowed to hope, watching detachedly for a moment as the Dark Lord commended him for his excellent blah blah, fuck. He supposed he needed to manage to undress himself before the speech ended and Voldemort showed up in the room, before the weight of potions left him in a doze.

"And in the mirror is another of our newest members, Young Perseus Averis. I think you are all very... familiar with Mr. Averis's father, Severus Snape." Oh, fuck.

Fuck. This was going to end so badly that he could not imagine the ramifications. Well, he could, but it was better to remain removed from the current situation, better not to know. "Both of these remarkable young men assisted with this evening's rescue. They even managed to return to Malfoy Manor ahead of all of you, despite severe injuries. However...."

Perseus thought he could see several people blanch at that word. "Mr. Malfoy made a most... unfortunate decision this evening. I will be rewarding them for their services with their lives." Lord Voldemort smiled. "And punishing them by offering their bodies to all of you."

The clapping was what made Perseus close his eyes, made him wonder how any individual in the crowd thought they were safe from the same arbitrary insanity, that the Lord they were serving was anything like a good choice of a leader. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to look at the mirror, not wanting to see Draco, or anything before anyone came up to the room. He wished he could close his ears. "Come here, Lucius."

His eyes jerked open despite his desire to remain ignorant. Lucius was there, looking like a drugged up whore from from beyond Bugridger Bottom. Narcissa gently prodded him, setting him into motion. His movements were jerky, slow, but he came when called, looking at Voldemort with a horrifying sort of realization. It was akin to seeing a man facing a king cobra.

"Y-yes, my lord?"

"Kneel, Lucius. Your family has worked hard in your absence to make up for your failures. They will continue to do so. Give me your wand." He did so slowly, and Voldemort wasted no time in pocketing it. It almost would have been less cruel to break it in half. "Remain on your knees through the night."

"My lord?" Lucius sounded confused, even more than he should have been from the residual effects of Azkaban.

Voldemort ignored him and moved to Draco, smiling. "And I will have you first."

Perseus closed his eyes again, because he didn't want to see. There was no reason to torture himself, no reason to make things worse and watch, because he'd seen that act enough times that it was old, like Muggle tv. It almost needed fake laughter in the background, and Bellatrix was marvelous for that, and mind's ease really was the best drug in existence.

He hoped Draco had some, even as the sounds began, unpleasant and horrifying. Draco was silent at first and then not so much so, and then definitely not... and the Dark Lord wasn't finished yet. Perseus was sure that he would be gifted His presence directly as well.

Then the ball would drop, so to speak, and he couldn't conceive of how it was going to go as anything other than an abstract horror, a distant growing sense that he would die again and he wasn't even feeling enough pain and immediate pressure to match it with the hysteria that such a thought had deserved. He'd been lulled by a few months back at school, because even angry and shaken, they'd been safe.

Safety was clearly relative, and he heard the crowd shifting, moving impatiently, and he knew the rest of the night was going to be high on the list of utterly horrific experiences in his life, and Draco's as well.

* * *

  
He had made it through the night without anything. No mind's ease, no numbing potions, no anything.

Draco was fairly certain he had survived with his sanity mostly intact. His mother had poured potions down his throat a couple of hours ago, performed a number of mediwitch level spells none of them should have known, and more or less propped him up at a table on the Conservatory with his father seated opposite -- not that Draco was sitting, exactly. More like canted, even magically numb.

Perseus's expression was grim, and a little vacant. Neither of them were talking about it, and being stripped out of the relative safety of his rooms forced them to package up more to deal with later than he'd ever wanted to consider. Maybe he wasn't actually sane anymore. He'd seen, every once in a while, the things that had been done to Perseus. Draco supposed most of them had been happy to fuck him with his father kneeling at his side through it all. He'd seen Bellatrix up with Perseus, seen the whole thing degrade into trying to fuck him while rending sinew from bone. He had a lot of marks above the neck that were still healing. Draco supposed neither of them would be pretty for a while. At the rate they were going, dittany would never be enough even to start hiding the scars. They would need to rely on low-level glamours in order to return to Hogwarts without suspicion. The entire magical world would know that the prisoners of Azkaban had been freed, and it made Draco sick to think of returning.

It made him sicker to think of staying.

"Draco." His mother's voice was quiet, and he looked up at her from his stupor. "I want you to eat something, darling."

He didn't think that was possible. A glance at Perseus proved that he wasn't eating, either, but oddly enough he raised his fork with Narcissa's request. So did his father, and Draco wondered if his mother had learned to distill some sort of liquid _Imperius_. He reached for his own toast and forced himself to take a bite.

It was a far cry from the extravagant holidays he had always known. Winters spent shopping and doing day trips to wherever his parents fancied, or even just enjoying the local sights, potions faires and bazaars, and playing in enchanted snow.

He hadn't even thought of the weather except to marvel that they'd survived it.

Perseus finally reached for just his tea, which wasn't good, but was more like him, even if he seemed to be stiffly and silently sulking in his chair. "What... what're we doing today?"

Draco's father looked to his mother, who raised her own cup of tea and took a steady sip. "I believe we should be seen in Diagon Alley, all three of us. Lucius..." She looked at her husband, reached out and gently cupped his cheek with her hand. "Darling, why don't you visit the standing stones today? I think it would be restful for you."

"I think I'd rather... stay." It sounded nothing like his father, and Perseus was watching Lucius as he talked, probably coming to the same conclusion. Stay. Draco thought that was a terrible idea. A worse than terrible idea. He would never voluntarily stay in the Manor anymore, not... Just never.

Never.

His mother nodded slowly. Her teacup settled with a barely-there chime of china on china. "If you wish, Lucius. I feel sure you won't mind that the boys and I are leaving the house for the day."

There was a hesitance, and Lucius added, "With you. I meant, I..." Lucius swallowed. "Everything is very clouded."

"I know. I know, darling. You cannot come with us. Not yet." Her hand was gentle on him. "Everyone will know that Azkaban has been emptied of its more dangerous residents. They will be looking for you. I think the standing stones would be a much better alternative."

His eyelids fluttered disturbingly for a moment. "Yes. Yes, then I'll be there." And they were going out.

Perseus took another sip of his tea, and closed his eyes. "Will we be going back to Hogwarts?"

Swallowing the bite of toast that he had been chewing mechanically, Draco shook his head. "We have to. We... we still have a task to complete." Several tasks, in point of fact. He didn't want to think about them just now. He didn't want to think of anything at the moment.

He watched Perseus set his cup down, picking up a piece of toast to eat as well. He wasn't touching the bacon, and that was like Perseus not eating sweet things -- unbelievable. Then again, there had been... a rather unfortunate amount of fire in play in the ballroom last night. He could only imagine that there might have been a similar amount in the Silver Chamber; Draco didn't remember a great deal of what went on in either place.

"Today, we go to Diagon Alley. Tomorrow, we'll worry about where to go next."

At least his mother was capable of making something like a decision, even if he couldn't seem to choose anything at all.

"School." Or that, yes. Focus on three weeks away and skip everything in the middle. Perseus was looking at him, though, a sharper look in his eyes and oh. Yes, that was possible, but Lucius wouldn't do it. He knew it wouldn't happen, and it was too soon in the holiday to suggest such a thing.

If his mother said yes, that would be... Draco thought his father would follow her instructions. He didn't believe that was a possibility, though. Not really. Draco wanted to live, he wanted to... He didn't want to die, and he was absolutely certain that if they did that, they would all be dead.

Narcissa gently smiled at them. "Yes. Quite soon now. For today, however... Diagon Alley."

He wasn't even sure he could walk well, and Perseus's mouth tipped a little. Hopefully he wouldn't have another night like that to look forward to, but it was possible. It was likely, so he needed to enjoy his time at Diagon Alley as much as feasible. They all did.

Draco's throat was too tight for him to swallow any more toast, and he knew it so he set it down. "Diagon Alley," he agreed, and if it sounded fucked up and wrong, then that was because he was at the moment. "Can we go now?"

"Yes. Go upstairs for a rest, and dress. I'll come for you." And help, was the implication.

Perseus was already standing up, tottering a little beside his chair. Pushing himself up from the table, Draco managed to get his own legs under him and offered Perseus his arm, as if that would help at all. Maybe if they leaned on one another they would be less likely to topple over than if they tried walking along on their own. Of course, if anyone ran into them who still wanted to take advantage of them, he was pretty sure they couldn't do a damned thing about it.

He was pretty sure that his aunt was encouraging it.

Still, they started out of the conservatory and up the stairs, passing one drunk who hopefully wasn't dead. Well, no, Draco did hope he was dead. He was only sad that neither of them seemed to have the magical capacity to make certain of it.

"C'mon." Not invitation or demand; just encouragement. They stumbled and faltered their way back to Draco's suite, which had more or less become theirs by default. It was a mess -- clothes on the floor, brooms as well, everything a complete bloody disaster. He remembered a time when he had been so utterly compulsive about putting things away that he would have twitched a bit at the mess. "C'mon," he said again, and they helped one another through the minefield of utter chaos.

Just a moment to lie on the bed, just a moment to pretend that his life wasn't so horribly fucked, and for Perseus to remember where he'd stashed the bloody potions that were important to keeping their lives going. Diagon Alley meant putting up an excellent front, which he would've been able to do before the long day and night they had suffered. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"I understand why your mother wants to be seen."

Draco understood it and he didn't understand it all at once. "Wish it could be tomorrow." Or the day after because Perseus moved like a timeworn old man, as if everything creaked. It probably worse than creaked, because his aunt hadn't been in the ballroom with him. He made his way to the wardrobe once he had Perseus settled and somehow made his way onto his knees so that he could dig into some of their more powerful potions. If ever there was a time for it, it was now.

"Sometimes I don't know why we do this." Draco wondered that, too, but there was never really a good place to discuss it, or a time. "I have bones I can't get straight. If I can't fix my hand..."

"I know." It had to be fixed, but the bones were too small, too fine. There was a worse chance that he would fuck it up beyond using if he went in with magic. Draco didn't know what to do except stumble up with his robe cradling stoppered phials, his balance shaky as hell. "I know. We'll.. we can talk about it later. While we're out, maybe."

"Sit down." He had no idea how they were going to manage going out except that it was going to involve a lot of pretending. "I'm sorry."

Draco gave a sharp laugh. "Both of us are sorry, for all the good it does." That was asinine of him. "I apologize. I don't mean to snap." They were both in pain, though, and he handed Perseus one of the blue ones -- alleviating elixir, he thought. The green ones were healing, and he would start on those next.

"I still don't plan on dying on you. Again." He took a swig, using his left hand to hold it. It took a few sips, but then it was gone, and he shivered as it spread through his veins. Draco was familiar with the feeling -- a very nice, icy sort of feeling, like a cold shower on a hot day. It was a special kind of bliss following the terrible sorts of things that happened to them.

"You had better not." He handed him one of the green ones next, only halfway paying attention. The rest of his concentration was in the back of his head, carefully not-thinking about any of the things that had happened in the last seventy-two hours.

It was warring with an urge in his head to pull out old memories of Christmas and shake them out for his explicit enjoyment, and neither were very productive. The one wasn't helping and the other made everything feel extra special hellish. "He would've done it anyway."

Draco's brows pulled together and he looked at Perseus, confused and uncertain. "Would have...?" He was too tired to follow what he meant and hurt too much. Carefully, he pulled himself closer, further into the bed, and settled against Perseus's side. He nestled his head against Perseus's shoulder with care, not wanting to exacerbate any of the painful spots.

"The punishment. Doesn't matter what we did. Could've come back with the rest of them." He slid his left arm around Draco's shoulders, and exhaled.

Closing his eyes felt so easy. "This isn't what my father used to talk about."

"Who tells their son about this?" He stroked fingers through Draco's hair, massaging his scalp a little. It made it hard for Draco not to think about bits of skin that were too tight on his own body from the burning, about the hand Perseus wasn't using.

He hummed quietly, and kept his eyes closed. Sometimes, it was just better not to look, or even speak. "I know," he said finally, and they curled there together for quite some time before his mother came to fetch them.

She knocked, which was enough noise to rouse them, or startle them both awake, though Draco wasn't going to admit to that. They were dressed enough, had been for breakfast. Decent suit, decent clothes. Just needed to grab a coat on the way out the door. "Umph, not enough time."

"No." Not ever enough. Draco rose all the same, slow and hurting with every motion.

"Darling?" It was a quiet question, and she stepped inside, careful and quiet. "Are you ready to go shopping?"

"No." No, but Perseus was standing up, and it was a little better. Even slow and hurting could improve given time and enough healing potions. "But let's go." At least in the Alley, no one was going to molest them publicly.

Narcissa herded them gently, moving them through the manor as quickly as possible. The ass who had been lying drunk at the bottom of the stairs was still there, so perhaps he was dead or maybe he was simply dead drunk. Draco made sure to kick him as they passed by him, a vicious motion. He was fairly certain that he heard his nose crunch.

It did make him feel a bit better.

Tiny bit, fractional. They headed for the large fireplace in the front entryway, the last remaining Floo that he knew worked, just from the fact that it was under a not at all subtle guard. His father had always been paranoid about security even before the Dark Lord had returned. Now, it was locked down like a fortress.

"Narcissa." Avery was loitering beside the fireplace, watching everyone who came and went. "I take it you're going out with the boys." Indeed. _The boys_ , as if he had the right to refer to them as anything, much less as that.

She gave him a smile, stepping closer to him. It was disturbing, honestly, the very idea that she was using feminine whiles on him. "Yes. We've not finished our shopping for the holiday.”

"And a very good holiday I expect it'll be," Avery smiled, leaning in close to her. "Shame about Lucius. I expect he'll recover his wits with time. Have a good time."

The flirty look his mother gave the man made him want to run away. "I believe we will. Come along, Draco. Perseus. Shall we stop for candy first?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Bring me back some sweet ass," Avery grinned, holding out the bowl of Floo powder.

"Minty toad'll have to do." Perseus grabbed, and threw it, declaring, "Diagon Alley!" rather than "Hogwarts!", which was what Draco halfway feared might've happened.

He followed him through to Diagon, desperate never, ever to hear anything that involved his mother and ass at all.

Ever.

By the time she followed them through, Narcissa looked ruffled and very angry. "Come along." She took both of them by the hand, and they whirled away in a vicious jerk before they could even see the Alley.

Not at all what he expected, and they spilled out somewhere unfamiliar to Draco, though it was still cold out and the ground was covered in snow and scraped up bits of snow. Not Diagon Alley, no, but somewhere else, even if there were houses all in a row in a way that still said England to Draco.

"Milliam's Healing Station." Perseus squinted at the fence.

"And both of you are going inside, immediately." Draco was extraordinarily confused. "In you go. You need better care than I can provide for you, and at this point there is only one way to get it."

And it wasn't going to be St. Mungo's. "Brilliant." Perseus seemed almost relieved while Narcissa herded them forward, past the gate and up to the front door, which opened with ease.

There was a hostess, or maybe a mediwitch, right there at the front door, like it was a restaurant for injuries.

"Hello, darlings. My, we are a bit of a mess, aren't we?" She smiled sunnily, wand at the ready. "Come along then, dears. We have a special ward for the quiet cases, don't we? Mrs. Langlois has already spoken with us and paid in advance. So nice of her, isn't it?"

Mrs. Langlois?

Draco blinked back at his mother, and then shook his head. Perseus was already following her, and that was likely for the best. "Mother?"

"Go. Go, they will make this quick and we will go back to the Alley soon." So no hold or careful monitoring, just hammering in spells that only the well-trained and highly qualified could do, and then tossing them out on their ear.

So much easier than St. Mungo's, Draco supposed.

Quick turned out to be not so quick at all. Slow, in fact, but it involved a clearly illicit Time Turner and a mediwitch devoted to nothing more than the two of them. Somewhere along the way, he fell asleep, and when he woke he felt a great deal better. Nothing hurt -- much -- and that was nigh on a miracle.

"You awake? We've almost caught up to ourselves in time." Perseus was stretching his right hand, sprawled out on the bed beside Draco's, almost marveling at it.

"Better?" he asked sleepily. It was ridiculous and it felt altogether too convenient. Then again, his mother had likely been considering this for quite a long time. It had been seven months since... since all of this began.

Seven very long months, and now Draco was afraid to return to the manor because he was better, and he'd been all better, physically fine just a few days before. It took so little work to undo it all. Perseus was sitting up, slow and careful. "Better."

He licked his lips and pushed himself up from the cot. "How are we going to hide this?"

"Potions?" Perseus stretched his hand out, still testing the muscles. "I, fuck. I don't know. If we're going to die, let's die in one piece?"

Carefully, he stood and moved, glancing up as he heard steps. His mother was there, looking more rested than before, and intensely sad. "Hello, darlings. You're looking much better than earlier. I am so sorry, but I must fetch you. We need to return."

He didn't want to return. He didn't want to go anywhere at all, least of all back to the Manor. Perseus moved in closer to him, reaching down to take Draco's hand. "Let's hope all of this doesn't get undone."

It probably would be. They would end up in the Silver Chamber or the ballroom or almost anywhere, held sway to the utter and complete horror of all the things that made him want... want anything. Want to die, want to hide, want to run to the ends of the Earth. The Mark would always call them back, even if they ran. It wouldn't do any good.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and stepped in closer to him, ignoring his mother and the mediwitch. His free hand curled against the nape of Perseus's neck, and he tucked his face momentarily in the safety of his throat. "I know."

"We're still messes." Perseus exhaled, sliding his other arm around Draco. Draco felt him shiver, squeezing his hand for a moment. "Damn. I. Bugger."

The mediwitch made a sound of sympathy. "Poor darlings. I tell you, the things boys do get themselves into these days. It must have been a horrible accident, Mrs. Langlois, what with the cursed broom and all."

He couldn't imagine what his mother had told her. It could have been almost anything, he supposed. "Yes, but I'm afraid we must be going. We wouldn't want anyone knowing about the, ah. Injuries, you understand."

A nudge, and they were walking forward, Perseus miserably pulling back from Draco but not letting go of his hand. They were quiet through the walk out, back into the snow that was so cold that it startled Draco. "What, back to the Alley?" To be seen, probably not long after they'd Floo'd there. To be where they belonged in time.

"Yes, darling. I'm afraid we'll have to return to the manor afterwards, but we'll do a bit of shopping first. It is Christmas, and we'll try. I'll try," his mother said, slipping closer to them and reaching out for their hands. Draco didn't want to take it; he didn't want to go home. He never wanted to go home again, frankly, and he thought that if his father ever came to himself again, he probably wouldn't want him there.

Draco took his mother's hand all the same, and Perseus reached for her other one without letting go of Draco's.

If they were going to be punished horribly for existing, as a set, he might as well take what he could get.

The pull at his navel spun his stomach up, but it didn't make fresh injuries ache when they jarred to a stop on the cobblestone street, Narcissa quickly letting go of their hands. Back in Diagon, then, and Draco shook his head, moving forward. His mother walked on ahead of them, and he glanced at Perseus before they both fell into step behind her.

Perseus kept hold of his fingers while they followed her. It was probably barely noticeable for their coats. The candy shop was just up ahead, as good a place to start as any before they got into more standard Malfoy holiday shopping, clothes, extravagant things. Hell, new brooms wouldn't have been amiss.

The musical charm over the door sang when they stepped in, just briefly, and Draco was unsurprised when no clerk came forward to assist them. Things hadn't been the same since his father had gone to Azkaban, and he felt his face twitch into a tight mask of irritation. As if they weren't suffering enough at home. Public humiliation on top of that made him want to run away quite a bit more.

Perseus seemed to accept that no clerk was the norm, and perhaps it was and always had been. He wandered a little, tugging at Draco to eye the shelves and the brightly packaged things that eventually all tasted like sugar or chocolate to varying degrees of quality. He supposed Perseus didn't feel the sting of being publicly ignored quite like Draco did. "What do you feel like?"

"Mint chocolate frogs." He preferred them to the regular ones; they were green and they moved quite differently. Also, the cards were less collectible wizards and witches and more interesting fact-related things. His favorite one would likely always be the Wiggenweld card he had gotten sometime during fourth year; as if it would be as simple as slipping a bit of potion to someone from lips, ha! "And perhaps licorice whips."

Perseus leaned and looked and moved to get mint chocolate frogs off a shelf, and licorice whips from the other side of the room. He got himself a couple of sugar mice, some plain chocolate frogs, and then seemed content to wander. After all, the longer they both stayed in the store, the less time they had back at the manor. Narcissa was leaving them alone, having walked up to the counter no doubt to corral a shop person for herself.

The door jingled again, and Draco looked sideways, surprised to see his disowned cousin and her pet dog. "Suppose we should stock up while we're -- oh!"

 _Oh_ was about right, he guessed. At least it wasn't any worse than that, and Draco notched his chin up sharply before turning away to look at a collection of blood pops. Deucedly nasty things, all coppery salty sweet, but it was better to hear mockery about vampire blood than it was to deal with the sight of his appallingly stupid kin. The sheer number of hateful and sarcastic comments from the vast number of people rotating in and out of Malfoy Manor regarding them seemed staggering.

As if none of them had relatives of whom they were ashamed. Ha!

Perseus was openly staring, though, because no one had given him the sense not to draw attention to himself when he most preferred not to interact. Then he seemed to catch himself, while the two of them breezed past, and muttered, "Ugh, bloodpops."

"Aunt Narcissa, you look... beautiful, as always. And Draco's gotten so tall!"

Oh, Merlin's hairy balls. Just what they needed -- to be seen talking to that blood traitor and her tainted mate. Draco closed his eyes and breathed out in a slow, heavy way. He wanted very much to take their chocolate and run away to somewhere suitably safe, even if the terrifyingly stupid part of that desire was that nowhere was safe anymore.

He heard his mother murmur something appropriately short and opened his eyes to see her coming their way, leaving behind Nymphadora and Lupin. "Do you have everything you want, darlings?"

"Yes." Perseus held their gathered offerings forward, while Draco stood at his side. "Probably more than we can manage over Yule."

It didn't help that the werewolf and the blood traitor were staring at them, the werewolf particularly openly. Perseus resumed staring back. One day, he was going to attempt to teach Perseus something like subtlety. He ought to have that down pat, all things considered, but then again. Things were never simple.

Narcissa called over a clerk and paid for their items without finding it necessary to pass _them_ again. She then herded the two of them forward carefully, a hand on each of their shoulders. "Draco, darling, would you like to look for a new broom? Perseus as well, I think." Yes, Perseus as well. His was a complete disaster after his accident, and Draco didn't want to think about that.

"Yes, Mother. And perhaps afterwards we could visit Duvekot's?" There would be small, interesting gifts available there, as always.

"Of course." She was going to acquiesce to anything, everything. Perseus held the bag in one hand, and reached for Draco's fingers with his other hand again.

"What's in Duvekot's?" Like Perseus didn't know.

"Oh, expensive knickknacks, jewels, random neat spells." Draco managed to dredge up a smile. "When I was twelve, there was this model of the constellations, utterly gorgeous. Father said I couldn't have it until I could make it for myself."

"But if you can make it yourself, why do you need to buy it?" Because he could. Because once upon a time Malfoys had done things because they could, to be seen enjoying themselves, not because they needed to. It felt like that had been an eternity ago, and that the time when that was so would never return.

Draco shrugged and looked at Perseus. "Because we can, don't you think? I'll find you something there. You can pick out your own present if you like."

He watched Perseus's expression twitch, his mouth flatten for a moment. "I, I'm. I don't know."

With a tug, they moved a little deeper into the alley, Draco pulling him steadily a little further along. "Anything you want, or I shall pick out something truly horrific that will shame and mortify you if you are seen with it in public." He was smiling the whole time, though, because this was worth smiling about, worth the effort of teasing him.

"I want things that make for poor gifts." Draco felt his mother squeeze his shoulder, steering them towards the broom shop. Under normal circumstances, it would've been less... escorted, but nothing was normal anymore.

In that moment, he made a determination, as best as he could. They were going to get through this, and he would find a way somehow to give Perseus all the things they both wanted, things they couldn't buy right now. Things that he wasn't even willing to think about much, just because if he thought about them, he would want them, too, even more badly than he already did, anyway. Until then, they would have to make do with what they had and survive everything that got thrown at them, which was a lot to be thinking about when they entered the broom store to find it packed to the brim with regrettably pureblood Weasleys.

Clearly it was not their day. It was not their week nor was it their year, and Draco was beginning to think that it was not, in fact, their _decade_. When he heard something that sounded like ferret, he bristled impossibly, grinding his teeth together.

"Why don't you browse while I talk to the shopkeeper." It was very firm, and Draco knew why he was out -- to put on a good appearance. Perseus squeezed his hand.

"Sure. Let's wander."

"Back to the more expensive brooms," Draco replied, tugging at Perseus, their hands still clasped. Fuck whatever the Weasleys thought. They wouldn't be able to afford the brooms where they were going, so they could most likely avoid them that way.

Probably.

"Hey, Malfoy!" He felt Perseus's hand twitch, and it made him glad he was holding onto his wand hand. "Averis, didn't think we'd see you two out after the prison break."

"Sod off, Weasley." He didn't turn around, which was a better reaction than he'd given the werewolf.

"I would quite prefer not to see you again, Weasley," Draco drawled. "It is an unfortunate fact of life that for so long as we are in school, I expect that will be unavoidable."

"I expect so." They were back towards the nice, expensive brooms, and Ron looked angry and accusatory. "I know you and Harry have come to some stupid truce, but I don't trust either of you fags as far as I could throw you." He looked down at their hands.

"Oh, you should try that one on your brothers, Weasley. I caught them buggering each other in the prefect's bathroom last year. There was an awful lot of ginger going on."

It was quite entertaining, that particular shade of mauve. It clashed brilliantly with Weasley's hair, making Draco smirk. "And honestly, there's only so much ginger you can face in one place without being traumatized. Never mind Greg and Fritz being, you know. But then again, it means fewer of you breeding, I suppose."

"Fred and George," Ron corrected, sounding a little strangled. It was almost admirable. "Don't you dare say that about my brothers, don't you dare!"

"Then sod off and go away," Perseus offered almost brightly.

"I dare quite a lot. Bugger off to the cheaper section, won't you, Weasley?" He was in no mood to deal with the idiot.

"I can... you know, just because you lot can afford nicer brooms doesn't mean it can fly. And at least I've never whored myself out!"

Perseus let go of Draco's hand, dropped the candy bag, and lunged for Ron with his wand drawn, snarl on his face. He yelped and grabbed for Perseus's hand, for some kind of control, because if Perseus cursed Weasley in front of anyone, there would be utter hell to pay. Neither of them was prepared for that, and so he did his best to pull him away, pull him closer. "Perseus!"

It was worth it to watch Ron clutch his coat up around his throat, squealing while he stumbled backwards. "You two, you're, you're savages..."

"You just wait until you're willing to do anything to survive!" There was a moment where he stepped backwards, leaning against Draco, back to his chest, face pale, jaw tight.

He managed to get Perseus’s wand back down, managed to hold onto him. "You're making a scene," he hissed close to Perseus's ear. "We don't need that, at all. You need to calm down before we're overrun with Aurors who adore Weasleys."

Didn't quite take the wand from him, but he kept a hold of his wrist, while Perseus gave one last tug, his voice trailing into a whimper. "I. I..."

"It's okay." He could ignore Weasley and his horrible squawking. "It's all right. Come on. Ignore him. Let's go on to Duvekot's. We'll buy something spectacular."

It worked for Draco, and he kept hold of Perseus until he went slack at last, still standing. "Fuck."

"You're right starkers! You're just completely bloody mad!" But Weasley was leaving, stumbling backwards, and that was all Draco wanted.

"It's all right," he promised quietly. "It's fine. You can hex him to hell and gone when we're back at Hogwarts if you want, but not here. Not now."

"No. Not..." He leaned against Draco; Perseus gave a shaking exhale. "Sorry."

"Come on, then. We'll buy something utterly fantastic that no Weasley could possibly afford and then we'll rub it in his face later, yeah?" It was a quiet promise, and he meant it. Every single word. Possibly it wasn't the best coping strategy for Perseus, but Draco was very good at it.

"Sure."

Sure, and he would take that and run with it. They could buy new brooms later.


	3. Shelter

They had made it back to Hogwarts relatively unscathed, if one discounted the fact that they were living with Draco's aunt, the Dark Lord, and a number of completely insane Death Eaters.

He had a new broom, new clothes, and to all eyes it looked like he'd had a marvelous holiday with Draco. Classes were easy to slip back into, the rhythm of routine that he'd found rather soothing when he'd been there the first time around, and the Cabinet. He'd almost forgotten about the fucking Cabinet.

And the headmaster, who was still dying, and not taking visitors according to the gargoyle at his door, when Perseus really insistently needed to pass on everything he'd learned over the holiday.

Bloody hell.

Worse than that, really, because he had to tell someone. Had to say something, anything, had to get together some sort of plan to get them out of there. Any sort of plan, honestly, so long as it was _a fucking plan_ , preferably one that didn't mean they spent two days at the office of a discrete mediwitch in possession of an illegal TimeTurner.

She had been very very nice, but it shouldn't have been necessary. He cursed at the gargoyle, and stormed off down the hallway, towards the staff quarters. Fine, he'd just find another Order member, any Order member, so long as it was someone who might be able to get them out. To, to do something, and he didn't know where to go from there, but he had to have someone to whom he could confess all of the horrors, someone who might be able to make some sense of... he didn't even know. He just needed... something.

When he'd been a spy before, he'd been at a level with Dumbledore, even when he hadn't. He had colleagues, even if they hated him and couldn't stand him. There were people to turn to, people to receive the information and put it to use.

So he knocked, hard, on McGonagall's quarter's door.

It took a moment before it opened, and then she was there, ridiculous tartan robe and all, hair up in braids. "Mr. Averis. I must confess, I had never expected to see you here." She paused, and then she seemed to see something on his face. "Come in. I'll fetch a cup of tea."

"I needed to talk to Headmaster. The gargoyle wouldn't let me in." He moved into the room, mouth tight. Draco was working on the Cabinet again, making sure it hadn't degraded.

He had to do something.

"Yes. I am afraid that Headmaster Dumbledore has taken something of a turn for the worse, a most unfortunate state of affairs." She returned with tea, something minty and chocolaty and warm, and it made him think of Draco's stupid mint chocolate frogs and the way they tasted when he kissed him.

He clutched it in his hands, and just inhaled for a moment. Maybe it wasn't so stupid after all. "I spent Yule with Lord Voldemort."

That got her attention right proper. "Mr. Averis...." McGonagall didn't seem to know what to say. "I... I am certain...."

"The only reason Draco and I are here this year is because we're supposed to kill the headmaster." He took another sip of tea, and closed his eyes, slouching in the chair. "I can't do this."

The expression on her face said that she knew this already, and he was grateful for that much. "Mr... Perseus," she began, leaning in close. Biscuits on a plate came from out of nowhere. "Tell me everything you feel comfortable discussing and I will do all I can to help you."

She might, or at least she'd feel horrible about it, and while it was no consolation in the end, at least someone would know. It was possibly too close to the old reality for his comfort, because he'd confided horrible things to Minerva before, so he stayed quiet for a moment, breathing in the tea more than tasting it. He went on, careful about his speech patterns, he hoped. "This past summer, I was in the alley. A witch in the potions supply store said that she knew a place where I could work and there wasn't the Trace to worry about. So, I went with her, to Malfoy Manor. I was, I..." Fuck. "It wasn't good, last summer. Got back, I told the headmaster everything. I asked for asylum, and I asked for it for Draco. He made Draco swear an Unbreakable Vow to serve the Order, and it's... not really anything like asylum at all."

He could see the look on her face, the way she tried to tuck away old memories of things that he didn't need to know. "I... He didn't mention the Vow, what were either of them thinking, making the Vow?" Horrified, yes, and she had ought to be. "You need to tell me everything."

"I don't want to tell you everything. He... made Draco Vow to serve the Order, to spy on Lord Voldemort. To do his best to see that Potter has a chance to kill him. He made Dumbledore Vow to protect me and his mother in return, and to protect all of us from prosecution." And maybe Lucius, only he couldn't remember. It didn't really matter. "Maybe Lucius. It, I'm not really thinking well. Lucius's brain seems like cold pudding right now, so does it really matter if anyone saves him?"

"All right. All right, I promise I'll do what I can. Do you... You or Mr. Malfoy, that is, either of you, are you in need of Madame Pomfrey?" She knew quite well the sorts of things that Voldemort preferred to do, except he was significantly more violent than he had used to be.

"Mrs. Malfoy took us to a mediwitch with an illegal time turner. I could use sleeping draught." He finally looked over at her. "It's... it's very bad. We were with the Death Eaters who broke into the prison, on the way out one of the Aurors winged my broom. We managed to get back to the Manor and it, we were..." He could say it very calmly. "I don't think all of them against the two of us is really very sporting."

McGonagall nodded slowly, looking at him with an expression that was so sad. "Of course. And Mr. Malfoy?"

"He." Perseus clutched at the cup, more for something to do with his hands than anything else. "He could use the sleeping draught as well. Yule was, if he hadn't made the Vow, I'd've. Left the first time someone let me near a Floo. It doesn't stop, and I don't think they'll let us come back after the summer, and then it's never going to stop."

"We will have to come up with a proper way to protect as many of you as we can. I..." She sipped from her teacup. "Perseus, I fear that Draco has made the Vow. I need to know exactly what he said and what Professor Dumbledore said in return. Until I know that, and perhaps even after... there may be nothing I can do to help Mr. Malfoy. I will do my best to protect you and to protect him and... even the Malfoys if necessary, but I cannot until I know the specifics. Would you be willing to offer me the memory?"

He hesitated for a moment, and tried to work out how to strip it of the scared desperation, the emotions that went with it. He was very good at altering memories, but it usually took a few test views to tweak it. "Yes. He did make the Vow. I witnessed it." He'd let it happen.

He had _let it happen_ , and now Draco was stuck and what if he couldn't save him? What if he couldn't get both of them out of this complete disaster?

McGonagall rose, her wand at the ready as she stepped closer to him. "If you are prepared...."

"Yes." He hoped she didn't pull at anything else, so he focused at the moment, the anger and disgust that Draco was being asked to make a Vow and not him. He closed his eyes, just let her reach for it while he focused on it.

When he looked again, she had the memory in a small phial, silvery liquid clinging to the sides as she looked at it and then at him. "If you will accompany me, Mr. Averis, we will see what might be possible, hm?"

He exhaled a little unsteadily, as he stood up, still carrying his teacup with him. "I'm not going to desert Draco." Or he would've already. Couldn't, wouldn't leave him to his fate, because it was half his fault.

That glance was filled with sympathy. It made him want to hit something. "It might be necessary, Perseus. I am very sorry, but depending upon the Vow and exactly how it was spoken, I may be unable to help young Draco at all. I badly want to help you, and I hope that you will accept my assistance."

"Just... tell me how bad it is." He gestured to her phial, and waited for her to take him to her Penseive. It didn't matter. He wasn't very interested in being helped if it involved abandoning Draco.

The memory flowed with a slippery motion into the Penseive, and McGonagall motioned for him to come forwards before she stepped up to see it. "Come along, young man."

He went with her, waited until she moved to look into it to make the same move himself. He liked Penseives, but disliked what other things she might notice about the memory that he hadn't when he'd lived it.

From the outside looking in, the Headmaster's quarters seemed more welcoming than they had that night, he and Draco both standing and looking nervous from pacing. It was almost startling to see how hollow eyed Draco looked, how wan he seemed, after that hellish summer. And the headmaster's quietly hidden withered arm.

All of it left a bad taste in his mouth, left him wanting to fix things and there was nothing he could fix. Especially not with Draco standing there, his face tight and stressed and his entire body seemed caught between flight and some sort of protective stance. "Will the Vow nullify with your death?" he asked, seeming half desperate and half hopeful.

"The Vow will nullify after Voldemort's or your own demise."

He saw himself lift his wand, face conflicted. "This doesn't end well." Had his voice been that shaken then? Dumbledore gestured for Draco to reach out and take his arm. "This isn't...."

"Give me another option, then." Draco wanted one, desperately hoped for a different option. He could see that in the silvery-grey of his eyes, the way he was so fierce and forlorn.

There just hadn't been any.

"I don't know, we didn't choose to go this way, I didn't want to be Marked, I didn't want what happened..." His wand hand was shaking, and he sounded desperate when Draco snapped at him, turned at him. He was all nerves, and anger and wanting to protect, Perseus could see it easier now.

"And neither did I. Do you think I did? Do you think there is any other choice? He's not offering something for nothing. We are not Gryffindors. We are not foolish enough to believe that would happen." He stepped back towards the headmaster. "Perseus won't make the Vow. He doesn't need to."

"No, he does not. Perseus?" The headmaster peered over the edge of his glasses. "Your witness, please."

"Merlin. Yes, fine. Fine." He lifted his wand, and cast the spell, golden magic threading up and around their arms. Draco began to shake worse beneath the force of the binding, and Perseus wanted to forget this. He didn't want to see this.

Dumbledore spoke. "Do you, Draco Malfoy, vow to serve the Order of the Phoenix? To spy for the side of Light in exchange for protection from prosecution for your actions as a Death Eater?"

Draco looked down at his hand, at the magic, and he looked so fucked up. "Yes."

There was a pause and then Dumbledore continued. "And do you swear to do your best to assure that Harry Potter will have the opportunity to destroy Lord Voldemort?"

Draco's chin jerked upwards. "Yes." The old man was about to draw away from him when he clamped down on it hard. "I expect a Vow in return."

He watched a cryptic look cross over the Headmaster's face, but he nodded to Draco despite it. He hadn't been expecting that. "All right, Mr. Malfoy. Go on."

He licked his lips nervously, drawing in a deep breath. "Do you swear that if I meet this Vow, you will include my mother and Perseus Averis in your promise whether or not I die?" He knew, had known then, that Draco believed he wouldn't live through what Dumbledore wanted.

Draco's eyes remained focused on the headmaster when he answered, "Yes. I swear it."

"And if I can get my mother to agree, will you provide protection for her and a secret keeper if at all possible?"

"Pending her agreement, yes. And your father, if he so desires and agrees. I think that's all?" Dumbledore waited for Draco's nod, and Perseus ended the spell, wrapped it tight around them until it burned into the bone in a different way than the Mark had. And then Perseus hugged him tightly, and he wanted to hug him again now, more than anything

"You damned melodramatic prick."

Perseus pulled back, inhaling hard now that he wasn't immersed in a memory that made him feel worse than before, it that had been possible. He needed to find Draco in the Room of Requirement and just... stay with him. It was almost a pressing urge. So he looked at the head of Gryffindor, and waited.

She looked old, a great deal older than she was. "Mr. Averis. Perseus. Oh, I am very sorry, but the Vow..."

And he had known that. He had been absolutely certain of it, but he had needed to try. He was desperate. "We're going to die. We'll never..." The headmaster was going to die of the curse he was under long before he and Draco fixed the Vanishing Cabinet. And they wouldn't be allowed to come back and they were going to end up buried beneath Malfoy Manor.

There was no helping the tears that flooded him. He hadn't cried in... in ever. He didn't cry anymore, but he had wanted to hope. He had wanted so badly to hope, and he reached up and clamped a hand over his mouth, doing his best not to fall apart. They couldn't fall apart, either of them, they couldn't. He'd been compensating with bravado, with anger and force because it was there, but he didn't want to die, and he didn't want Draco to die, and the headmaster didn't care. He wasn't really going to protect or do anything except take information, and he couldn't think. Couldn't, needed to leave, needed to tell her things, plans, places they were going to hit, how they were going to take the Ministry apart because there were things he heard that no one expected to leave the Manor.

Feeling arms wrap around him did him no good. It just made it all worse, and he was better than this, he was better than falling apart this way. He was, and having McGonagall shush him and pat at him in no way made any of this feel any better. "There, there. There, there, now, we can... I will do my best to figure out something, Perseus. There, there."

As if that helped at all.

"No, I." He didn't have time or room for comfort. He didn't. "I have to, I, there's information..." Information the Order needed, because it would spare Draco the same conversation with her the next day.

"All right." She didn't let go of him, though, and he was glad for it. He wanted that comfort, even if he didn't know what to do with himself, or with her for that matter. "I think perhaps you need a bit more than a sleeping draught, young man. And Mr. Malfoy, as well."

Probably. Probably he needed to be interred at St. Mungo's and left alone to play with coloured paper and a crippled wand, which made him choke on a laugh and helped keep back the tears. "They're, there's a list of places they're going to attack, I need to..." Write it all down might be better.

"Of course. Of course, let me get you a quill and a scroll." She didn't draw away, though, not yet. "You did not make the Vow, Perseus. Technically, I could find a secret keeper for you."

He shook his head. "I can't leave him, I'm not going to leave him alone." He'd been hallucinating that Perseus was there before he'd even arrived and how could he leave Draco to that?

There was no way. He couldn't, and he felt her hand on the back of his neck for just a moment, could tell from the way she paused and breathed in deeply that she was going to say something. "You aren't the first young man to fall into such difficult circumstances. I wish there was more that I could do, but Draco made the Vow."

"Headmaster's a bastard." Perseus exhaled shakily, pulling himself together a little more, a little tighter. It wasn't very good, but he'd at least be able to write down what he needed.

How they were going to get through this, he didn't know. He had thought he could be free, he could be something else, and here he was Marked again, hardly able to hold himself together. Draco was holding him up and he was trying to do the same for Draco. He didn't know what they were going to do but it seemed that they couldn't do anything more than die.

Minerva didn't agree with him, but neither did she disagree. She said nothing at all, and perhaps that was all right.

* * *

  
He knew that Perseus wasn't doing well. Hell, neither was he in all frankness. They were fucked up and completely screwed and he was the one who had gotten them that way. At least if he hadn't made the Vow, he would have been able to get them out of there for a while. Run away, hope for the best.

There was none of that now.

Not that he thought he would've run away. He still worried about his mother, and what doing that would bring down on her head. He probably shouldn't have so starkly refused to ask for asylum without her, though. It might not have landed them where they were, biting out filthy words at the magical box that wasn't magical enough. "Hand me that and let's see if it stays." Perseus was holding a hand out, waiting for Draco to pass him his apple.

He gave a sigh and handed it over, watching as Perseus put it into the Cabinet and closed the door. A wave of his wand and a soft murmur followed, and they both waited, tense and miserable.

"I'm sorry," he said as Perseus reached for the door. "For everything."

"I'm not going to abandon you." Perseus opened the door, and it was gone, which was at least a start. "Though I probably should've sorted Gryffindor, because if this isn't stupid loyalty..." Or obsessive devotion, which was clearly Slytherin, though they crossed the same lines, didn't they?

"Yeah." Yeah, but Draco knew he wouldn't leave. Knew that, even though he wished that he would. Wished he would just run, take the best route out of this and leave. Voldemort might not catch up with him for years, or at least months, and as things were now, they'd be dying like the professor had. It wasn't a pretty picture.

It was sort of a miracle that, if he was going through that regularly, Professor Snape hadn't killed the combined Slytherin-Gryffindor Double Potion class. It took a toll, and he could see it at the edges of his own face, the look in his own eyes a mirror to Perseus's. He closed the door on the Cabinet, and waited a beat before he opened it again.

The apple was gone. "Finally."

Finally, yeah, but that didn't feel good. It felt fucking awful, and Draco felt his breath stop in his chest as he stared at the empty Cabinet. "Yeah." It didn't even sound like his own voice, and they both stared at it for a long moment before Perseus shut the door and looked back at him.

"It still needs more testing." But it was going to happen, there was no stopping it. He was going to have to cast the killing curse on the Headmaster, and then there would be no more Hogwarts. He didn't know what the raiding party wanted to do, except he was sure it would be extravagant.

Draco licked his lips slowly. "How long do you think it would take for the Vow to kill me if we left?" It was an option. God, he didn't want it to be an option, but if Perseus and his parents were safe, that would be enough. He never thought he would be that guy, the one who was willing to die for someone else. He still didn't think he was. Maybe he just had a stupid fucking hope that the Vow wouldn't kill him for a while yet.

"Three days after you start on the intent to defy it." Three days. Three days wasn't very long. Perseus stood up, reaching for Draco. "I'm not going to let you do something so stupid. I'll kill him."

"No." He could man up about it. "I killed Rosier. I can kill Dumbledore, only...." He was going to fall to pieces. Completely, because they were going to let Death Eaters into the only haven they had left. That meant the Dark Lord would be there with them, and it was all going to end fucking horribly. "I want you safe. I want my parents safe. If we take off, then I've got three days to be certain of it."

"And then you die." Perseus just pulled at him, a hand at his wrist, to sit with him on the floor. It was worn clean of dust from their constant presence there. "I want to see him defeated, and I want you to live to see it, too."

"I want you to live to see it, too." He just didn't think it was going to happen. "We should look. See if it's back."

No spell was needed this time, just an opening of the door. That was all it was supposed to take, so Perseus settled in again, and leaned forward to pull at the door, slowly, nervously. If it didn't work, then he'd just lost his snack and they were still fucked for failing to get it done.

If it worked, they were fucked.

The door creaked as it came open, and Draco's heart stopped in his chest for just a moment. Just one, and then it picked up again, twice as fast. He reached in past Perseus and raised it, looking at it. Looking at the teeth marks in it, vicious, the skin broken, and that kind of horror ought to have killed him.

"It works." It worked, and they needed to tell the headmaster. Needed to plan, needed to test it more because if the Death Eaters piled into the Cabinet and then didn't come out the other side, Vow be damned, he was running.

"Yeah." He sounded just as shaken, just as fucked up as Perseus seemed. "We. We're gonna need something live to test it." He couldn't stop looking at the apple.

Just the thought of it made him sick, made him want to hide in the Room of Requirement until it was all over, until someone found them or they were dead. The fact that it would only be three days would make it easy on him, but it wouldn't be easy for Perseus. Draco drew in a breath and let it out. "We can't let Greyback into Hogwarts. We just can't." Although in a flat choice between them and everyone else, the answer was clear. Bugger the rest of them.

"We'll do what we have to." Perseus's mouth was a tight line. "We'll tell the headmaster." Which wouldn't do anything except share the guilt, but Perseus was good at it. "And go to bed and think about what else needs to be tested tomorrow."

Bed sounded nice. Sounded safe, because this was Hogwarts, and it had to be. Nothing else in their lives seemed safe anymore, and Draco knew that he didn't have the power to fix that problem. "Yeah." He didn't know about Perseus, but he was fairly certain he would have nightmares involving teeth and saliva and things that he didn't want to think about. Not ever.

Perseus leaned into him, close, easy, just pressing a kiss to the side of his cheek. "All right." All right, and Perseus would take the lead from him for a few hours and that was fine. It was his turn, anyway.

* * *

  
He never managed to leave a meeting with the headmaster, now that he was at least vertical again, without a handful of candy and a hollow miserable feeling in his chest.

Information passed on, the Vow wouldn't kill Draco, even if the old man was chipperly telling him they needed to let what happened happen. That it all happened for a reason. Not that Perseus could ever find a reason for that sort of torment.

Then again, he was fairly certain that Dumbledore had never suffered the way that the Dark Lord preferred for his victims to suffer. Sometimes, Perseus thought it would be better to be a Muggle or a Mudblood. At least if that was the case, they would be allowed to die instead of suffering and suffering and suffering.

Patched back together, propped up and sent on their merry way to die all over again. He stopped in the hallway, and gathered himself for a moment before he started forward again. It was going to go the way the Headmaster and Voldemort wanted, and Perseus had never thought the two would agree on the same thing quite like that.

He jumped violently when a hand touched his shoulder, turning with his wand in his hand only to find another wand pointing straight at him. "Quite high-strung, aren't you, Averis?"

"Bugger, Granger, what do you want?" Holding him at wandpoint as well, that was lovely. He wasn't going to react -- in a duel, she didn't have a chance.

She had her lips pressed together primly as she looked at him. "Checking in on your progress, actually. I've not seen you since Christmas, and both you and Malfoy seemed quite nervous. I decided that perhaps you would need some time before we went back to work."

Perseus was sure that she had to know the reason they were working on the Cabinet; she wasn't stupid. They had gotten it working for the apple, so he was a bit worried that if she went back to work on it, she might sabotage it.

Then again, considering how sheet pale Draco had gone when he thought of Greyback, that might be for the best... except then they might be bitten, and some things didn't bear consideration.

"You can start by lowering your wand." His jaw was tense, and he wondered why she'd even drawn a wand on him. "We should speak elsewhere."

With a bit of relief, he saw that she did so, her facial expression still carefully watching, looking for something. He didn't know what and he wasn't sure it mattered. "Of course. Girls' bathroom, second floor, ten minutes?"

"Fine." He'd have to ask her just what she was looking for, why she'd shown up wand raised. He popped a raspberry whip into his mouth, and instead turned his back to her to leave.

He made his way through Hogwarts, passing a group of third year Hufflepuffs along the way. The vague urge to make them squeak and run away in fear rose up, and he couldn't help the way his mouth twitched in pleasure at the thought. At least there were some things in his life which remained vaguely normal. He cast a charm that spun out a small bunch of bright yellow mice, and smiled when they scattered in the face of the tiny herd. He didn't get to lurk too long, heading for the girls' bathroom.

Granger was already there when he arrived, seated primly on a stone ledge and talking with Moaning Myrtle.

"Oh, I see him quite a lot," Myrtle was saying. "He's a very sweet boy, and so worried all the time. He says he does have friends, one in particular, but he doesn't like to worry him."

Granger seemed deeply interested. "Really? I'd have thought... Oh, hello."

Perseus squinted at them both, and nodded to the Ghost. "Hello, Myrtle. Where were we, Granger?"

"You were about to tell me about your progress and whether you need any help." She would make a fantastic teacher one day. She had that look of prim and proper expectation that made him think of McGonagall.

"No," he said after a moment of thinking it over, "I think we're good. I just updated the Headmaster on the situation. How was your holiday?"

"Excellent." She clearly wasn't planning to allow him to leave it at that. "So, tell me more about your progress. I suspect you aren't interested in telling me about your holiday."

"If you're ever captured by the Death Eaters, kill yourself." He deadpanned it, looking around to see where Myrtle had gone. "We're on track."

That seemed to make her tense and uncertain, and it was good for someone besides him to feel that way. "On track for when?"

"If I tell you, you'll try to stop us. The headmaster knows." Perseus shrugged his shoulders. "My hands are tied."

"Yes, well. The headmaster isn't in the best of health, and I've learned over the last five and a half years at Hogwarts that sometimes it's better to know a secret than to be left out of it." Granger shifted, looking at him seriously. "In fact, we're quite efficient at ferreting out secrets, and I expect that's exactly the sort of thing that has kept me and Ron and Harry alive over that time."

"You're very smart, Granger, but the Headmaster and the other professors have gone to great lengths to protect you all. I hope that continues. I trust Professor McGonagall." He watched her serious expression, her feigned relaxation. "Some secrets, you don't want to know."

He saw her head duck and then she looked up at him steadily for a moment. "Will you tell me when the time comes? I would like to keep all of us alive."

"You can't save him. I want you to stay out of the way. He's dying, anyway." He closed his eyes, and only reluctantly went back to looking at her. "We'll still be passing what we can afterwards, but."

"But." She seemed shaken, and it was no surprise. He was shaken, so he didn't see why Granger shouldn't be as well. "Still. A warning would be helpful."

"If I can." He rubbed at his forehead, and tried not to look at her. "Is that all? I'd like to go back to the Dungeons."

"All right. If that's the best I can get, then I'll take it. I still don't trust you, but I will do whatever I have to do to protect anyone and everyone I can, so... I'll take it." Rising, she straightened her skirt and moved for the door, and he fell into step beside him.

"Not trusting me isn't really an option," Perseus shrugged. "And if we all survive this year, I'll see you around, I suppose." In a more official capacity. Perseus stuck his hands into his pocket, and it was at that moment that the attack came.

" _Aculeus_ "!

Granger dodged, pushing him to give both of them enough momentum to miss the curse once they were moving. The stinging hex carved a path straight into the lavatory, and Perseus scrambled his way upwards. The nearest rooms were still too far away to do either of them any good, and he couldn't see who was casting the spell. "Back inside!" he yelled at her, ducking into the room as she scurried back inside on her hands and knees.

He had his wand at the ready now, pressed up against the wall and waiting for the sound that came -- the door swinging inwards sharply, a bumbling knock. " _Expelliarmus_!" Damn, he'd aimed too high and missed, and the next hex came incredibly close to him.

" _Virgam sagittis_!" Fuck, that was serious, and he heard Granger slam one of the stall doors shut to keep the arrows flying through the air from hitting her.

"Are you completely insane!?" Oh, no. Draco. "Weasley, you...!"

"You bastards! You bloody, cursing, murderous bastards! All of you!" There was a burst of light, and Perseus dove forward, trying to disarm the lunatic again. He missed Weasley's arm, and watched the idiot flail, throwing a stinging hex at Draco before whirling back to Perseus, spitting, " _Sectumsempra! Sectumsempra!_ "

It was too close to deflect it properly, too startled, maybe, because he'd never expected the dumbest Weasley in the school ever to know something like that, never mind his own spell. He went down only to feel the splash of water beneath him, something overflowing or leaking somewhere, and he couldn't seem to do anything more than draw in shaky breaths. He couldn't hear Draco either, and that terrified him as much as the bleeding he could see, because what if it had hit him, too? What if it had severed something vital, what if they were both going to die, and oh, Merlin, Mordred and Morganna, he didn't want to die like this. Or at all, in point of fact.

"Ron! Ron!" Granger sounded hysterical and far away from him. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"They're both Death Eaters, Hermione, and he's gonna hurt you." Oh god. Killed by a jealous teenager and not the Dark Lord at all. He shuddered through another breath, and wondered if they were going to have it out right there on the floor when everything hurt fever sharp and he was bleeding. "I told you he was stark raving over the Hols."

"He is not going to hurt me! And you did the same to Malfoy, it's... they're bleeding, there's so much blood, and..." And she was going to dither until they did die, he thought, trying to scramble past the pain and blood lose so that he could scrabble for his wand. He felt her hand against his, then, and looked up, and he thought perhaps he mumbled the spell she needed. Perhaps.

The spell he needed, the spell Draco needed, mouthed it, struggling to breath. Killed by a fucking Weasley, how appropriate, how horrifying. All for nothing, then, because when his fingers touched his wand, they didn't grasp right. Nothing was moving right.

"I didn't, they _are_ trying to hurt you, to hurt all of us, I didn't..."

"Oh, shut up, Ron!" Shut up, and he made a pitiful sound before he could make out the words on her lips. " _Vulnera Sanentur_...."

She would have to do it again. Again. Three times, because it was Dark magic, and he had to hope that Draco wasn't missing anything vital, that he would be able to move to him, to fix it when she was done.

" _Vulnera Sanentur_...."

It was ridiculous, really. Muggleborn, and so much brighter than most of the rest of the students. Knew things like this, but then, she was friends with Potter and that idiot Weasley.

" _Vulnera Sanentur_...."

Someone had to be keeping them alive, of the three of them.

He lurched to his knees, clutching at his chest briefly before he staggered forward, wand loose in his fingers, towards Draco. " _Vulnera Sanentur_. _Vulnera Sanentur_."

 _And then Hermione's voice with the last one, overlapping him, and it didn't matter which one hit first and which one hit last because the wall was the only thing holding him up and Draco needed it._

 _"I didn't, they're _Death Eaters_ , they're Marked, they've got the Mark, I saw it, they..."_

"Shut up, Ron!" She shrieked it, and he wanted badly to curse the hell out of him. Instead, he managed to reach out with shaking hands and get Draco's head out of the water, shifting it onto his thigh. "That is no excuse for what you've done! They'd have bled to death if I hadn't been here, don't you understand that? They are not what you think!"

If she gave them away, they would die a great deal sooner than he had wanted to die. Still, she had prevented them from dying this go round. For the moment. He stumbled forwards, knelt down beside Draco and started to check unsteadily for things that might've been cursed off. If he'd nicked something off, it wasn't going to grow back. "Get Madam Pomfrey." It wasn't done, wasn't enough, they were still bleeding, but he was mostly sure they weren't going to die. His heart was still beating all right. "Please..."

"I, uh, I'll..." And then there was Ron splashing past them and out the door, and Perseus thought that one day he was going to have to do something extra-specially terrible to that little bastard. No appreciation for Potions, little appreciation for a great deal of things, and he had used that bloody spell. Then again, emotion had a lot to do with things. Even the Unforgivables were basically powered by a fair amount of _and I really, really mean it_.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Granger was kneeling in the water on the other side of Draco, face wet with tears. "He didn't mean it. I don't think he even knew what it did, it was just a spell in the margins of a book, no instructions at all. I... I'm so very sorry."

They were going to die for that lot, and it wasn't going to matter. "We never even should have tried." His fingers were all there, Draco's, his own, and he wiped at blood on Draco's face, finding out which marks were healing, healed and still needed help. The rents in his clothing were still pink in places and turning red quite slowly. There was a nasty knot on his forehead, and Perseus's fingers traced over it, careful, gentle.

"I am so sorry," Granger said again, as if that meant anything. "This, it was a terrible mistake, I know he didn't know what he was doing, please...."

Please? She thought she had the right to ask him _please_ with Draco unconscious on his lap?

He shook his head, minutely, checking at Draco's chest, making sure he didn't miss anything vital, because if he could move and walk he would, always had, so he had to be fine. Better than after the crash, where Draco was bleeding still. Dittany, it always went back to dittany. "I don't care how sorry you are."

They could all rot in hell for all he cared.

* * *

  
They had managed to get the Cabinet working. Well, theoretically at least. The last test was supposed to be this evening, and they had decided to go and see Dumbledore to let him know before they knew for certain.

Draco shook his head a little as they waited beside the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. "Well." Well.

The last few weeks had sucked in ways which defied description. Being bled to the point of anemia certainly hadn't been any fun whatsoever, and the concussion that had lingered in the form of headaches had made him hate the world. Mostly, he'd hated Weasley. It was a shame he'd already hated Weasley, and that hating him harder wasn't actually fun or anything Draco did differently.

Perseus exhaled. 'Yes. Lemon sherbet?" He'd started off with chocolates, but at least the gargoyle hadn't told them no, don't bother at all. There was passing information to McGonagall, and then there was passing information on to her that she wouldn't take well.

Neither one of them wanted to end up in Azkaban, that much was certain, and he was still uncertain about how McGonagall felt about their activities in general. "Maybe we should chase down a Mudblood. Start asking about Muggle candies or something."

"Cadbury flake?" Perseus squinted at the gargoyle, and it finally moved. Well, flake was certainly the right thing to associate with the headmaster.

What self-respecting wizard would ever have a password like that? "Do I even want to know?" he grumbled as they stepped onto the staircase and made their twisty way upwards.

"No, but you'd probably eat it and like it." Perseus led the way -- he always did to the headmaster, a bizarre fondness for the old bastard twisted up in Draco didn't want to know what. "Headmaster?"

"Ah. Young Perseus. And.. Mister Malfoy." He sounded terrible. He looked worse, and Draco was fairly certain that he couldn't be that far from death.

"We've fixed the Cabinet." Perseus said it so very calmly, as if they'd finally just mended a desk or something. "So... probably tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Yes, tomorrow, what the hell. Draco's teeth were clenched as he closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at the headmaster. "Then we have a... very short time to finish all of the things which need to be done."

"I'm sorry." Perseus probably was, in a conflicted way, so Draco just stood and decided to watch Perseus's back through the fabric of his jumper.

Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh. "And I as well. There are... so many things I wish that I could change. So many things, and yet I seem unable to change my actions in any way. I only continue to repeat them."

"Sir..." Perseus hesitated, looked at Draco, and his jaw clenched a little. "What else do you need us to do?" He glanced up when he heard the sound of something heavy settling onto the desk, and he couldn't help the way his eyes widened. "That's... that's the sword of Godric Gryffindor."

"Yes," Dumbledore replied quietly. "It is. And I need for you to hide it, preferably somewhere that you will be able to get to it again when the time comes."

"When the time comes?" Draco's voice was sharp. What kind of idiotic qualification was that?

"How will we know?" Perseus stared at it, not quite reaching for it. Draco halfway wanted to take it and run for the hills with it, though he knew he wouldn't get far.

Draco hated that smile, that knowing asinine smile, as if the old man knew everything in the world. "You will know. And tomorrow, before you let them through the Cabinet, you must come back and kill me."

"Before." Before, right. Perseus turned a little, looking at Draco again. "We will. I'm sorry, Headmaster."

He might be, but Draco thought that he would be glad when the old man was gone. At least then, no more Slytherins would be making fantastically idiotic Vows and getting caught up in his machinations.

The old man sighed. "I should be the one apologizing. I fear I have failed you repeatedly. I have failed so many."

All of them, five or six times over, yes, Draco was willing to agree. Perseus's expression looked utterly miserable as he reached out to pick up the sword. "And here we still are."

"Yes." Yes, as if that was helpful at all.

"Then I suppose we had better get on with it." Draco's voice was sharp, hard.

Perseus grimaced while he turned around, looking almost angry while he threw a glamour over the sword, made it look like a book. A very sharp book that had to be handled just so, but it would do. "Good night, headmaster."

"Good night, Perseus. Good night, Mr. Malfoy."

"Sleep well." And if he was a bit sarcastic, well. It couldn't be helped. The man had allowed him to sign his own death warrant, and Perseus's too, probably, so he couldn't seem to help himself.

They walked down the stairs together quietly, heading for the Room of Requirement because no one even gave a fuck if they went back to the dorms, went to class, anything. The smartest thing to do was to wait until lunch the next morning, and kill the old bastard then, open the Cabinet, and take to the hills. Draco might just tell Perseus they were going to do that, too. They'd have a two or three day lead on the Vow, and at least one of them would live. The odds were currently completely against that happening if they went back to the Manor.

Silence held until they were in the room, until Perseus was warding the doors shut so they could stay overnight with no one fucking with them. It was a shame that the room seemed happier to provide them with a Vanishing Cabinet more than it was with providing them a bathroom or a decent bed to sleep in, just for the night. "We'll have to take the sword with us. I'd almost leave it here, but I have no idea how we'd ever get back."

He couldn't help the crook of his mouth, twitchy and a bit cynical. "Well, if we've done what we need to do, I reckon we can get back through the Vanishing Cabinet. Don't you? Besides, if we take it with us, it'll never be safe where we are. Unless you agree to run and take it with you." Not us, because there wouldn't be an us after the first few days.

"We'll hide it here, then." Perseus wasn't going to let him run, but Draco kept suggesting it. Even if it wasn't going to work. "We... I'm tired, and we know it works."

"Mmm. I know." He did know, and Draco frowned, thoughtful. "I have an idea. Let's step back out for a moment."

"All right." They hadn't gone far, and Perseus was particularly compliant when he was emotionally wrung out. He kept a hold of the sword as book, and Draco had a solution for that.

They stood outside of the doors for a moment and Draco took a deep breath. "Think about my bedroom at home. Think about everything -- the dragons and knights on the wall, Dolly in the pillows, the snitch on the bookcase. Everything you can remember." He tugged at Perseus's hand and they began to make the three-pass stroll in front of the door.

Perseus was thinking of it, he knew, thinking of the room that was, the stories Draco had told, the reality it had been before depression and pain and fucked up life had taken it all over and he'd fallen apart. The old room, rollicking with life, so that when they stopped again, Draco felt a twinge of hope about opening the door for the first time in a long time.

It looked like home.

Smelled like home, felt like home, was safe in a way that the Manor hadn't seemed in a long, long time. It was the way it should have been the first time Perseus saw it instead of it being a complete disaster in progress, covered in clothes and random crap and him kite-high in the middle of all of it. This was... it was perfect. There were all of his books on the bookcase, the little models that could be made to look like anyone working over a tiny cauldron on the desk, tiny Professor Snape peering into it, a miniscule Draco chopping something for the potion beside him.

He nodded to himself, looking around. "This is what I wanted you to see. Before."

Perseus nodded, watching the room as they shut the doors behind them, as if not quite sure it was real. "We'll leave the sword here." And as long as Borgin and Burkes still stood, they could go back. And probably if they were dead, Potter would need it so badly that the room would spit it out for him regardless. Perseus wandered forward, taking in the figurines, the paintings on the wall. He uncharmed the sword, and simply leaned it against the bookshelf. "Let's stay the night."

"All right." As simple and easy and complicated as that. Yes. Yes, stay the night, yes, this was what he had wanted, yes.

Yes.

It was probably going to be the last night of peace they had for a long time. Perseus leaned in to Draco, starting simple, plain, a kiss to the cheek. "Whatever you want."

Whatever he wanted. That was saying a lot right there, because Draco had sixteen years of wanting and getting what he wanted behind him, and the rest of his life not getting anything he wanted since that was probably going to be very short. He looked across at Perseus and drew in a deep breath. "Anything?"

"Anything." And Perseus meant it, just lingering close. Whatever Perseus wanted of Draco, it was never very much. Not compared to the rest of the world.

He reached out, thumb tracing the line of Perseus's jaw, his gaze following the motion of his touch. What he wanted was hard to say. "Show me." That was a miserable way of putting it. "Before summer. Show me what...."

"Yes." It wasn't hard, and Perseus's voice fell soft and quiet. "Yes. I wanted to do this..." So badly, he could tell, he could remember Perseus's excitement and delight and the playfulness that was gone now. That he didn't want to be gone, not forever, and they only had so much time. There was never going to be enough time, and so he stepped forward, stepped closer, and tilted his face to catch Perseus's mouth.

Slow kisses, easy kisses that he knew would ramp up in time. He liked the way Perseus kissed him, lazy, pulling him gently towards the bed with hands at his waist. Right. Right, it was the way things should have been, and it made him murmur approving sounds, low and quiet and consenting, one hand pressing to the back of his neck, the other against his shoulder. He wanted this, and if he kept telling himself that then he probably wouldn't panic.

Presumably.

They'd started to get back onto the right track before Yule, and then Yule had been a horror. Now it was starting to feel like a tradition -- good sex before entering into the breach. Slow, beautiful sex that Draco could cling to while Perseus touched him slowly, firmly, gradually rucking up the fabric of Draco's jumper and slipping it over his head. He felt his hair ruffle loose, and he moved to help him. Hands on robes, on jumper, on shirts and buttons, tugging them loose. "Yes." Yes, because he wanted it. "Yes, please, let's..."

It was quick, then, fingers moving, flying, and he was pretty sure one of them lost some buttons along the way. He didn't care. There were other shirts, other things, and he knew there wouldn't be other times. Not like this.

Getting naked was the easy part of it. Perseus pressing against him, bare body marked with scars and healed wounds and hex burns, Draco's own body probably worse just for being paler, that was more difficult, that added hard reality to the moment, except Perseus tipped his chin back, kissed the edge of his jaw. "In the bed, on your side."

With his face tilted that way, he couldn't see the scars or their Marks, and he looked up at the ceiling, all twinkling night sky up above, and he let loose a shaky sigh. "All right." All right, because they were going to be fine for now.

Fine for now, and it would be enough because it had to be.

Hour by hour, and less day by day. He knelt on his own bed, Perseus still twined around him, holding him, cupping the back of his head while he felt the familiar mattress give beneath them. "Mine." It was more of a sigh than a declaration, matched with the press of Perseus's nose against his neck. Perseus's hair smelled good, borrowed shampoo from Draco, and he hummed with the pleasure of it, letting himself be moved, shifted, until he was just the way that Perseus wanted him.

"Yeah." Completely. All of those other things didn't matter, didn't mean anything, because he had never said yes. He had never agreed, and all he could do now was to consent, to say with all of him that it was okay. That he wanted whatever they did now, and it was all right.

He let his own hands linger on Perseus's body, while Perseus settled in behind him finally, kissing at his shoulders, his neck. While getting naked had been urgent, this was lazier despite that he could feel Perseus's erection pressing against one ass cheek as he settled.

That was good, because maybe he would have panicked a little bit if it had been any less lazy, and he pulled in a deep breath, letting it out in a low, steady sigh as Perseus continued, murmuring against his skin, making Draco shiver. Always so good, always, never anything he had to worry about hurting or being something he didn't want.

Perseus's fingers stroked over his belly, up to his chest -- one hand pressed against his stomach, the other testingly tweaking a nipple. "Is that good?"

He laughed, shifting against him. "That... That's maybe the best thing I've felt in a long time. You, me. That's, it always is." Always was, and this was easier, sweet. He had wanted this so much, and Draco knew that he still did. "Please."

"Mmm, you can keep saying please, but I'm taking my time." He would've before, too, pressing dragging kisses against his shoulders while he slid a knee between Draco's thighs and just left it there, a warm entangling of legs to match the way Perseus's arms held Draco. "I love how you feel. I love you."

Oh.

Oh, that was. For a moment, he wasn't sure what that was. He knew it, or he had believed it, but hearing it was... hearing it was fantastic. The hiccough he gave was more startlement than anything else, and he shifted a little closer, turning so that he could be kissed again, shivering in reaction. "Yeah. Yes. Yes. I..." Oh. "Yes."

Kisses firm against his lips, swallowing his words, with his shoulder jammed against Perseus's narrow chest and Perseus not giving a damn, taking the words out of his mouth and making them whatever meaning they needed to be. Meanings Draco couldn't quite be sure of, might never be, but Perseus was sure enough for the both of them when he slid his leg back and forth between Draco's thighs and made him moan, loud and shivering. He shifted, the motion steadily turning into more of a rocking as hands traced over him, nipples, stomach, hip, the groove where thigh met groin, up and down and all over, and he moaned again and said the same thing he'd said before. Said what he meant.

"Yes. Yes, yes, I l..." Mouth on his, sweet, steady, and he wanted. Wanted so much.

Wanted more than just the suggestion, the presence, of Perseus behind him close enough to fuck him. The hand pressing low on his stomach skirted his dick, trailed over his hip, and then it pressed slickly against the spot behind his balls that made him groan. He was mostly sure there weren't any scars there. Perseus knew the best wandless magics, and he wanted to turn, wanted to wrap himself around Perseus until they were both shivering, stroking, coming, blissfully so. This, though, this was perfect. It was right, and when those fingers slipped further back, slid inside, all he could do was let out a moan, thready and hot. This was nothing like... nothing like anything else, it was slick and steady and sweet and he shook with the force of it, that desire. It made him fumble for Perseus's free hand, and he shifted, moved, curled so that Draco could thread together their fingers and shiver his way through the pleasure.

Perseus squeezed Draco's fingers, and then rocked the fingers inside of him, a slow stroke that Draco thought was threatening to pull him inside out. But there was no pain, no searing anything, only warm heat and a need to get more and his dick jutting up hard against his belly so that he wanted to reach down and stroke, touch, get himself off. Anything, everything, but all he could do was moan and push back to it, bite his lip to try and contain himself. "Fu... I... you... oh god. Oh, Merlin, please, please, I...." Felt so good. It felt amazing, and a crook of Perseus's fingers made him yell in pleasure.

This. It was what it should have been, everything it should have been, and he had never really thought about it after... after, but now, oh, now. He wanted to try everything that way, the slow, languid way, every position and there were a lot Draco had experienced, because it felt so very different when Perseus pulled out his fingers and shifted to replace them with himself.

"Please." Please, because he wanted so much. He wanted it, and he tried to move back for it, and Perseus had a hand on his hip, holding him still.

"Shhh." Shh, because this was supposed to be lazy and easy, but Draco couldn't help the sound he gave as Perseus shifted into him, couldn't keep it from cracking in the center, and he just... he wanted, so much.

Perseus moved slow, agonizingly so, slower than Draco needed or wanted, mostly slower than he wanted. A gradual slide in, and he groaned quietly, mouth lingering against Draco's jaw while he hitched his hips in fractionally closer. They were both shaking, and Draco couldn't seem to keep his eyes from closing, or his body from shifting back.

"I want..." Oh. He wanted so much, and his hand slid down his own belly to the juncture of his thighs and it was like fire when he touched himself, fingers closing around his cock, and he cried out.

Perseus shivered behind him, squeezing Draco's fingers in a spasm. "Oh, god. Yes, that feels good..."

Felt better than good, and he wanted to push back, wanted to roll over and let Perseus have him, because that would be something to remember, wanting it. Needing it, and Draco pushed his back closer to Perseus's chest and tightened their clasped fingers.

For his effort, he got a slow roll of Perseus's hips, a bare movement inside of him that was matched by a sucking kiss against his neck. It left him a bit of a wreck, or maybe even a lot of one. This was brilliant. Everything felt good, felt fine, and the equally slow stroke of a hand over his prick when the next lazy motion came made him give a frantic noise of approval. He wanted more of that, loads more, and yet he wanted it to keep on just like this forever. Close and safe and good, things he needed. Lazy, idle. Perseus kept it that way, idle strokes, slower thrusts until Draco was panting with it, until all he could do was feel. "More?"

More, yes, more, more, more, and this was possibly one of the best experiences of his life. Draco managed to nod, and the world sped up around them, thrust and stroke and push and pull, and he wondered what that noise was before realizing that it was him, mewling and hot and wanton.

Begging, pleading with noises that weren't words, while Perseus thrust and held on to him, wrapped around him close. He was... it was nothing like the other, it was everything like he'd wanted, and it was so easy to pretend. So easy to let Perseus make him crazy with it, and he shoved his dick through Perseus's clenched fist and it was so good, so close, and he couldn't keep himself from crying out, from coming so hard that he nearly blacked out with the force of it.

His foot cramped up, an oddly grounding feeling in the face of everything else, while Perseus gave his last few thrusts in that jerky way the last ones seemed to go. He was oversensitive and shivering and Merlin. Mordred, that was what he had dreamed about. Wanted. Thought it was... oh. Just oh.

Too late, too good, something he was probably never going to have again. Perseus pressed his mouth against Draco's shoulder, and he could almost feel teeth, but not really, just a faint pressure while Perseus held still and held him tight, not moving yet. He loved this, loved it, and he began to rub his thumb along the side of Perseus's hand, a slow, steady motion. The feel of Perseus's arm wrapped over his hip made him say, made him want to close his eyes except if he did that, then this would be over in a flash of sleep time, and he didn't want that.

"Mmmm."

He just wanted to lie there, half aware, half not thinking of anything at all, just feeling. He felt when Perseus pulled out, but stayed pressed against him, mumbling a cleaning spell that hardly tingled over Draco's skin. "Mmhm."

"Yeah." Yeah, and he sighed, low and steady. "That. That was..." Everything it should have been. Exactly right, and he knew that Perseus understood that.

"We'll do it again. Often." Sometime. Some magical time that didn't exist, but Draco liked the idea, the feeling of Perseus lingering close because it gave him pleasure, too. The idea that there would be some other time, and not just this one night, neatly tucked into a room within a Room, and he closed his eyes for a long time and just enjoyed the fact that they were there, and the idea that they might be again.

"Yeah," Draco agreed, and he kept stroking Perseus's hand.

* * *

  
They waited until after breakfast, hoping to time it for when classes weren't so bustling. Perseus knew it was going to be bad, it was going to go wrong, but there was nothing to do but head for the damned gargoyle, at least armed with the previous night's password, and get it over with.

Draco was pale and completely shut off, that same strange look he had gotten when he'd killed Rosier. It made him look too much like his father, pre-Azkaban, anyway. Tight through the eyes in a way that wasn't right on his face. Perseus wasn't going to let him cast the spell, but he couldn't say anything until they were up there. They mounted the stairs in silence, and he half wondered if Albus was anticipating them. Had he bothered to wait, had a last cup of tea, before he forced their hand through that madness?

He was waiting for them at the head of the stairs, his wand in his hand, leaning back against the chair behind his desk. He looked like death already and he smiled to see them. "Ah. I've been expecting y--"

" _Expelliarmus_!" Draco spat it out, fast and hard, and Dumbledore's wand went flying.

Perseus grimaced, and moved to subtly put himself between Draco and the headmaster. "I'll do it, Draco."

"No." And Dumbledore just sat there, watching them. "You hadn't ought to. I already... You hadn't ought to. Both of us don't have to be that deep in it."

"I think we should both be so deep in it." And he wasn't doing it out of rage, no. It was a mercy killing that was too late to be a true mercy, ending the headmaster's pain. He caught his eyes, just a moment, watched the fractional tilt of Dumbledore's head. "I'm sorry." He lifted his wand, and lashed out with it, drawing on frustration and rage and thwarted hopes to fuel the firmly spoken, " _Avada Kedavra_."

As simple and easy and completely horribly wrong as two words. He shuddered, shaken by the sight of it. What Draco had done to Rosier, that had been born of anger and trauma and Rosier's particular preference for sex and violence and too-young men. This was... this was something else altogether, something unstoppable and strangely merciful, and it shook him even if he pretended that it didn't.

Draco's hand was on his shoulder, tight and shaking. "We have to go and let them in."

He stepped backwards, lowering his wand. "Yes. Yes, let's go." He'd cast the Dark Mark in the sky when they were free, let it hover over Hogwarts where it didn't belong. Where it had never belonged, and he startled when Draco's hand slipped into his.

"You should have let me," was all he said, and then he let go, taking a steadying breath. He still had that distant Lucius expression on his face, pinched and determined, but it seemed less so now. "Well. We have the rest of the job to do."

"Let's get this over with." Perseus said it grimly, and they started, moving fast but not so fast that they were going to draw extra attention. Down the stairs and out into the hallway. It hurt, but it was still better for it to have been mercy, for it not to have marked Draco. Both of them were damned, anyway.

They slipped through the corridors, keeping to the shadows. By the time they made it to the Room of Requirement they were moving too quickly but there was no one to notice. Draco smelled of nerves and fear, and he was certain that he did as well. The Room spread open before them, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from thinking of the previous night. He wasn't going to consider. He took the lead, because he'd done it before, he'd killed and led these raids before. Never his school, his safe haven before. "Cast the spell, I'll open the door."

As if either of those things were simple, every day sorts of actions. Draco breathed the word, and if it shook a bit, well. He wasn't any better. The door came open, and it was as bad as they had feared. Greyback was in the Cabinet, yellowed teeth sharp in the light, and even Pureblood children knew that nothing could save them if he decided that their parents deserved a taste of his vengeance.

"I take it my aunt is coming right behind you, then." He didn't turn to look at Draco; he already knew what he would see. The tremor in his voice was settled, and Perseus wasn't sure that even Lucius could sound so blandly cold in the face of the werewolf. The fact that Draco was probably fracturing himself in order to do it was undeniable but it couldn't be helped. He wasn't the first.

He wouldn't be the last. He waited for Bellatrix and Dolohov to come through, watched Bellatrix's surprised delight that they had done as they'd been told.

"The headmaster was dead when we got up to his quarters." It was a lie, a blatant lie, but Perseus held the thought firm in his mind.

"He'd been cursed," Draco clarified. "Some sort of wasting disease, it looked like. His arm was mummified."

The glee with which that was greeted was purely rapturous, Bellatrix laughing and waving her arms as she spun in a delighted circle. "No less than he deserved, then!"

"I think it was precisely what he had coming." Perseus stood, waiting, watching Bellatrix's glee. "Shall we make our mark and go?" Scar the sky, scar the school, damn them all.

"Oh, but we could have so much fun now." She was almost kittenish in her excitement, Dolohov eyeing her appreciatively. "Who will stop us?"

No one. Or maybe someone, but he couldn't think about that for the moment. It was better to avoid it, and to turn with the others to leave the Room.

"I suspect the other professors would put up a fight. Just being here is enough, isn't it?" Perseus stepped forward, not loitering, heading for the door and throwing it open because he knew they would follow him like ducklings. Even Draco trailed behind, but it was more a case of paranoia and watching his back than anything else, he figured. Bellatrix danced along between them, laughing like the madwoman she was, her laughter ringing back from the stones. That was fantastic; calling attention to them when it was better that they didn't, and then she started a rousing chorus of _ding, dong, Dumbledore is dead_ that would have wakened vampires from their day's sleep, never mind the bloody castle.

In all honesty, it wasn't unexpected when a hex came flying out of the darkness and took off several of Dolohov's left fingers. " _Sectumsempra_!"

" _Stupefy_!" Perseus snapped it in the direction of the hex. There were only three other students who knew that, so he was going to have to assume those idiots were better off unconscious than dead.

Dolohov was yelping like a puppy, and Greyback was turning, teeth bared. It was a disaster in the making, and then the hexes and spells started flying more thickly their way. The sound of rapid footsteps began to come in their direction as well, and Draco reached for him, grabbed his arm and pulled as he began to run. They were Slytherin; they believed that discretion was the better part of valor.

Living was the best part of all. They ran down familiar steps, casting chaos causing curses but things that wouldn't harm -- impede yes, because impeding students meant they were trapped on the safe side and they all lived. Perseus hoped that he and Draco running would get Bellatrix moving, that Dolohov's injured hand would do the same, and it seemed to do the trick. They were all running through the dark, Bellatrix cackling and Greyback roaring, a ridiculous combination, and he could hear Draco panting as they ran faster, trying to reach the Forbidden Forest and the edge of the Apparition barriers.

He stopped, tugged at Draco's hand long enough to cast the Morsmorde that would drive it all home. It shot up into the air, and chewed away at the clouds with a sick green light, the final indignity. "Now."

Now, and he felt the whirling lurch of Apparition, Draco holding on to him tightly even as they appeared before the gates of Malfoy Manor. He could see the white peacocks on the lawn, the spill of moonlight through scuttling clouds, and he knew that they were about to step back into hell.

It would, at least, be a briefly victorious hell.

Perseus kept hold of Draco's hand, his wand still at the ready. Not that he'd do a damn thing with it, not that it would help. Perhaps they could finally take a place of regular tasking in the organization. Survive that way. Thinking on their usual roles didn't bear contemplation. Not really, and they both stood very still as they heard the others appear nearby. Dolohov was cursing viciously, and Bellatrix was clearly furious as she stalked past them, leading the way through the gates. Draco's hand tightened on his for a moment, waiting for Greyback to pass him. His sneer at the sight of the man was tinged with fury, and no wonder. He didn't belong at Malfoy Manor, and Draco's hatred of that was bone deep.

None of them belonged in Malfoy Manor.

They moved in, shadowed after them, and waited to see what happened next -- would it be a welcome, a dismissal, or a punishment? There was no telling, and he didn't know what to do. Neither of them really did, and neither of them let go of the other's fingers all the way to the front door.

Draco stopped at the far edge of the driveway in the shadow of the hedge and tugged at him. Perseus stepped in close, and they stood close, foreheads pressed together, no words spoken. Instead, they breathed together, put their minds into order, and waited long seconds before pulling apart and letting go of one another to move inside.

Sometimes, maddeningly, he just needed to pull himself together. It was a weakness, a new weakness, or perhaps an old one he'd never before nourished. But it was there and he was tired and the headmaster was dead.

Everything was as the Dark Lord wanted it.

* * *

  
There was nothing good in trying to meet a member of the other side when the other side had nothing but the deepest hatred for him. There was a glut of information to be passed on, and Perseus had discovered that as the witness he could feel when the Vow felt it needed to start a countdown. They'd had a few other close calls with that, balancing service to the Dark Lord and attempting to get away to help the other side, but it was a first for Perseus to be passing face to face information to someone whose blood was quite so... tainted.

Then again, werewolves were coming back into vogue with the Death Eaters, in a useful, snatching way, so maybe it wouldn't be quite so inexplicable.

Maybe.

Then again, he was probably damned one way or the other. The Vow was two steps away from killing Draco, and he had been sent to Newcastle to stalk Muggles and Mudbloods. It was unlikely that he would run into any members of the Order of the Phoenix, and it was somewhat easier for Perseus to get away at the moment. A bit of Polyjuice would have helped, but he hadn't had time to brew any recently, so glamours would have to be sufficient.

Glamours and hope and wishes, while he headed for 12 Grimmauld Place and hoped that someone with a pulse was stupid enough to be in residence, knowing that said idiot would very likely be the werewolf.

The questions that would likely set off would be more than he ever wanted anyone to know, but at this point they had nothing to lose except their lives.

He wasn't ready to die. Not yet, not in any way, shape or form, so he would just have to be faster with his wand than anybody who might be hiding there. It was Draco's best hope, so Perseus spelled open the door, and shut it tightly behind him, vigilant of any oncoming... anything. The house was quiet in a sleepy way, but he could hear voices from the end of the hallway, and see light from under a closed door.

He crept along the way, quiet and careful, intent on sneaking up on whoever it was before he revealed himself. Nothing ever went to plan for him, somehow, and so he should have expected the sudden assault by a cloud of dust in the form of Dumbledore, wasted and corpselike, and he couldn't help yelling. "I'm sorry!" It didn't seem to be enough, and it kept advancing on him as he twisted and stumbled down the narrow dirty hallway. There went surprise, there completely went surprise, as he tried again. "I'm sorry I killed you!"

The dust-wraith dissolved then in a burst of dirt and wind all around him even as he held up his hands to cover his eyes. It shouldn't have been any surprise that it was promptly followed by a yell and then a spell hit him and for a while he didn't know anything.

When he came around he tried not to let on, but clearly they knew he was awake. "I vote we just go ahead and off him. Or at least figure out some way to drop him into something like prison, for all that Azkaban holds less water than a sieve. So to speak."

"Ron!" The Mudblood seemed offended. "You cannot mean that!"

His mouth struggled with words for a moment, a strange feeling that had to be an after effect of the protective hexes. "Idiots. I'm on your side."

"Funny thing about that." Potter's gaze was grim and terrifyingly like his father's. "Because I'm fairly certain that I saw you kill Dumbledore, and that doesn't imply that you're on our side."

"And I helped you with that Cabinet!" Hermione added, and he could hear how appalled that made her.

"Bloody hell, when I said we were tasked with killing the headmaster, what did you think we were doing?" Perseus sat up a little more, glaring at both of them. "Gobstones? He asked me to, I did it."

Weasley made a sound of derision. "See? Told you they were evil. And you stopped me from ending them before they killed Dumbledore."

"He asked me to!" Perseus knew his voice shook when he said it. "The headmaster was dying of a wasting curse -- he would've slowly petrified." He sat up, and they shifted backwards minutely. Hadn't bound him, but they did have his wand, so they weren't complete idiots.

"All of which is true," Potter said thoughtfully, "but you also let known Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

"Via a Cabinet with which I helped you!" That seemed to sting at Granger a bit, and he wanted to groan in frustration.

"Yes." He said it slowly, watching the three of them and their rage and frustration. "Disobeying the Dark Lord's orders is not an option if we're to continue spying."

Weasley opened his mouth, but it was Potter who spoke. "Funny that you'd say we, considering we've not seen Malfoy, and it isn't like we've seen you before now, either."

"I've been otherwise engaged in the services of the Dark Lord. They're in Newcastle right now, killing Muggles. It's hard to get away." He kept his voice calm, level, almost conversational, with everything else packed away in overflowing boxes. They were going to come apart if things continued the way they were, or if not that then they would be discovered. It made him afraid, and the fact that this body didn't hold onto things nearly as well as he was accustomed certainly contributed to that problem.

"See? Killing Muggles!" Weasley was entirely too pleased with himself.

Potter seemed to be thinking, his face serious. "He made the Vow. I looked that up a while back, and I figure you're here so that the word of it’s kept. So it won't kill him while he's out murdering Muggles."

"Yes. He doesn't need to deliver crucial intelligence personally." Perseus was less detectable than an owl, and he supposed he was more reliable. "He knows what you're looking for. You need to move on the next soon."

That got him something anyway, a little confabulation far enough away that he couldn't hear their conversation that well. It was just as well. What he didn't know, he couldn't reveal, and if he managed to slip in a wandless tracing spell when Potter came back, well. He might need to find him sometime, and the Death Eaters would figure out Grimmauld Place eventually. If they were going to keep passing things on, he needed to find the angry idiot. Perseus waited, watched them look over his shoulder at him, and finally stood up, shaking out his wand hand. "There's a bit more I need to tell you."

They all seemed to come to some sort of decision amongst themselves, because Potter turned back to him, Granger guarding his back as Weasley went off to do whatever it was they had decided to do. "All right," Potter replied. "So tell us, then."

"Arthur Weasley needs to go to ground." He couldn't stop the more general travesties, but he could stop the ones that might cost Potter the war. "And you need to start destroying the things."

"How?" That sort of intensity might have been attractive to him, he supposed. In Draco, it might have been unbearably alluring, but Draco had been spoiled up until he wasn't anymore, and he had grown up fast and hard and afraid. It changed things.

Of course, Draco was a hell of a lot smarter than Potter in some ways. It all balanced out in the end. "Don't be a blithering idiot. I can’t hand you all of the answers; the best I can do is try to keep your fat out of the fire."

They stared at him, and for a moment, Hermione gaped. "See?"

He was sure he was turning hot red. "Fuck off."

"It's better if I don't think on it, I expect. All right, then. We'll figure out something. We've gotten a fair number of them now, and... and he's right, we're going to have to do something." Potter held out his hand in a sudden motion. "Thanks. For the help."

"Good luck." He was going to need it, so Perseus could give him that much, and laid in his wandless trace spell. "I need my wand back."

"At the door." Well, at least Potter wasn't excessively stupid. Clearly he had gotten his mother's brains as well as her eyes.

Shame about his father's face.

"Fine." He looked at them for a moment and nodded, turning on his heel. That none of the older Order members were there told him that the place was done for as a base, but it was clearly doing just fine as a hidey-hole. "Where is Lupin? It might be easier to pass information to a werewolf. A lot of them are snatching these days."

They were all quite for a moment, and he waited for them to make their discomfort with him much more obvious than it was already. "Like we'd tell you that!" Weasley's voice went high and pitchy with stress. "You'll just get him done in."

"Yes, because that is exactly what I'm planning." Perseus pulled himself together. "I have two goals in this. The first is to make it through this alive. The second and equally important is to be sure Draco does, too. Make of that what you want."

Potter handed him his wand and pointed to the door. "You know your way out."

He did, better than any of them wanted to talk about. Ungrateful fuckers, the lot of them. They made it hard for him to want to keep helping, hard for him to do anything but enough to make the Vow ease on Draco. He could feel it ebbing back already, mission satisfied.

It was time to go to Diagon Alley and look for potions ingredients to mask his absence.

Slug & Jiggers was mostly empty when he got there, but most of the Alley was vacant. What people there were seemed to move furtively, as if they were afraid that they might get caught. It was a reasonable worry, all things considered, and he drifted through the empty store with the clerk eyeing him over the counter. At least he could pick up most of what he needed without hitting Knockturn. Ernst mostly pissed him right off, and he wasn't in the mood for that.

He really wasn't in the mood for that, though the urge was there to flash his Mark and watch the man shit himself right there. Slug & Jiggers was at least a pleasant sort of nervous, a hopeful please buy here nervous that made it easier for him to browse and load up a basket. He turned to reach for the scoop in the frogs' eyes and met another hand.

"Oh! Oh, my goodness, I... oh, you." That word sounded dismayed and a little worried, intimidated. Professor Slughorn. Fantastic.

"Good evening, professor." He kept his voice level, easy, and where Slughorn drew back, he took the opportunity to get his frogs' eyes.

The tetchy look was written all over him, and yet he didn't withdraw. Maybe the old man did have a bit of backbone. "Yes, ah. Good evening, Mr. Averis, isn't it? Yes. Quite excellent potions, sixth... you were a sixth year, I think? Quite."

"Yes, sixth year." A dropout, even, or perhaps a runaway. Everyone knew, but the Ministry was in a slow dissolve. "I suppose we'll be back this year. Malfoy and myself."

The way that the old man twitched was visible. "I. Yes. Yes, I ah... I had heard that, that you might. Common knowledge, you might call it, since Dolores Umbridge seems set to be named Headmistress." Slughorn had probably seriously considered running, too.

He'd lived that game before, though, and Hogwarts was probably the safest place for him. Perseus gave him as brilliant a smile as he could manage. "Good news, I know! Shame about the Headmaster. Are you working on any interesting brews?"

Slughorn looked a bit hornswaggled, perhaps even put out. He wasn't sure. "N-no. Not... nothing in particular at this time. I, I should be getting back to Hogwarts. Frightfully busy time of year, you know." Just a few more weeks until it was fully open and read for teaching.

Not really the busiest time of year ever, not from his memory. Perseus inclined his head. "Of course. I'll see you when the school years starts, Professor Slughorn."

"O-of course." Of course, and he was clearly going to be nervous of him and Malfoy both, which was only for the best, all things considered. "When the school year starts."

He gave a wave to the old wizard, watched him abandon his basket and make for the door in a way that Perseus approved of, because yes. Now he had an alibi, and Slughorn was a well known talker. It couldn't have worked better if he had planned it, and maybe Malfoy would be home when he got back to the Manor.

It always made him twitchy when they ended up on different missions, different ships. If the Dark Lord remained behind, it didn't bode well for the one who remained behind. Today happened to be a fairly good day in that the Dark Lord had other plans, plans that didn't involve him at all. Plans that meant he might have a rest, that he could doze in the potions lab and brew things that needed lengthy steeps and frogs' eyes. Draco would meet him there, their secondary haven, and he would return to not thinking a whit.

It sounded like a quite unremarkable intention, and once he finished restocking his supply, he was going to head straight back to the Manor and put it into action.

* * *

  
They were going back to Hogwarts.

It had been welcome news in Draco's opinion. Muggle torture sounded fine and romantic when his father was talking about the Burning Times, when he talked to multiple-Greats Aunt Millicent about her daughter being tortured near to death and then burned at the stake. It sounded like revenge in no small way, and that was fine... if they were only talking.

The problem was that what sounded romantic when it was talk wasn't anything like that in reality. It was blood and screaming and smoke and things that he was going to have nightmares about for the rest of his life.

"Darling?" His mother leaned in and caressed a hand over his chin, giving him a worried smile. "Draco, sweetheart?"

"Sorry, Mother." It had taken that touch to make him blink back to reality. Sometimes, he had that problem.

He supposed he wasn't doing well, but that was all right. None of them were, not his mother, not his father, not Perseus. It was just different shades of not well. It was just that he couldn't, didn't have space in his head to think of any kind of future, because... A part of him felt the Dark Lord was winning. It was inevitable, and the only way out of it would be death. His father looked... well. He had seen people who looked like that a time or two, usually down at the far ends of Knockturn. It wasn't the kind of place that nice people ever ventured, and his father's mortifying state was something that sent his mind skittering in other directions.

"Have some tea," she offered, and began to pour for all of them. Perseus was sitting across from him, and he looked a bit shell-shocked, as well. Then again, neither of them had expected that they would be allowed to return to school. Draco wasn't even certain that they would want to do so, considering the people who had been appointed as professors. The Carrows, for instance, weren't professorial quality in anything. They were brutes, and idiots, and Draco didn't think it was going to be an environment where even Slytherins would learn, because they were wildly heavy handed. And Umbridge was going to be the headmaster, which left Perseus looking particularly grim.

"Thanks."

"Of course, darling." She called both of them the sweetest pet names, as if that would somehow make up for something. Then again, maybe it helped her, and if it helped any of them... well. It was all right. "Sweetheart?"

His father looked up, and Draco couldn't help flinching, or the way that he scrambled for Perseus's hand. It made him feel better, and if it was weak then so what?

Perseus held his fingers, his grip firm, solid, grounding, and just was there. He reached out with his other hand and lifted his tea cup to take a sip. No one bothered to call them faggots the way occasionally happened at school, because, well. Most of the compound had had them, one way or another, so there wasn't really any point in trying to demean them with words. "Well. Looks like we'll be taking our NEWTs after all."

"I'm so excited." Bliss. Rapture. Fuck. He was just tired and he couldn't seem to help himself. He hadn't ought to take it out on anyone else. "I'm sorry."

His mother smiled, fragile and pretty, and he loved her. So much. "I know, darling. I know."

Perseus flexed his fingers, and just gave up altogether, scooting his chair over to sit beside Draco because it was easier. Sometimes, Draco felt pathetic for it, but mostly he was just glad to be surviving, to be focusing on everything but what his life was like compared to what everyone expected his life to be like.

They sat there quietly, eating biscuits and drinking tea, a strange, tense mockery of family tea. His father picked vaguely at anything resembling food, the way he had done for weeks now. He wasn't coming back together well, and Draco wondered sometimes. He wondered what it had been like last time. What his father had done. What Professor Snape had done, what they had lived through. He didn't know if it was anything he wanted to know, but he wondered, and when Perseus budged even closer, he moved to rest his head on his shoulder.

"Mmm." Perseus tilted his head a little, pressed his cheek against Draco's hair.

His father finally reacted a little, but Draco didn't move. "You... both must be strong."

"Being strong is very exhausting." Perseus quipped, almost lightly, taking another sip of his tea. Draco swore he could smell the sugar in it, and it made him smile more than the comment. After all, he was right.

It was bloody exhausting.

"So I suppose we'll need to go shopping for school." And for new clothes. Draco had shot up a few inches, just enough to be uncomfortable in his current clothing.

Of course, the solution of going naked wasn't much in demand by Draco. Narcissa smiled a little. "Yes, we should. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Perseus sighed, sliding his thumb over the back of Draco's hand. "If no one talks to us and we don't have to pretend to be all right, I suppose so."

Perhaps they could manage something else altogether; he wondered what it would take to get a room of their own somehow. Considering their Marks, he might manage to threaten the others into sleeping with the sixth years... if they didn't realize they were mostly being used as whores. "I think that seems like quite a good plan."

After all, Perseus had nearly gone unhinged over Yule at a Weasley, though Draco suspected they wouldn't be running into any of the magnificent three in Diagon. Not with their ilk gone to ground or keeping a low profile out of fear.

Either way.

"I don't like what's... being done." That Lucius said it almost startled Draco. "It isn't your place."

Merlin, Mordred and Morgana. It was far too late for his father to be changing his mind now, and it made Draco stare at him, looking across at him, not knowing what to say. All of those stories. Every last one of them, and things had changed so much. He licked his lips and shook his head, hair ruffling beneath Perseus's cheek. "Father. We.... don't really have a proper place anymore. This is something we will have to do."

"You're my son. I shouldn't..." The hand on the teacup was shaking a little. "What you've had to do. I don't want that for you." It was far too late for his father to make decisions about what he wanted and expect them to make a damn. He wasn't sure how to explain that, either, so he gripped Perseus's hand and let out a slow sigh.

"Sweetheart." There was a certain amount of iron in his mother's voice. "Drink your tea."

Draco could feel Perseus's tension, words being bit back, chewed over. He did a mostly excellent job, but Lucius seemed to bring it out in Perseus, anger and a loose tongue, hints and slips. "I don't think anyone deserves or wants what we've had to do."

Neutral, flat, focused, heavy with implications of moments that Draco couldn't think about without needing a room in St. Mungo's. He supposed that one day he might have to process it, the hundred little things that were all crammed in boxes, the memory of his father rising from his knees at the Dark Lord's behest to join the line of people taking Draco apart in the ballroom.

He needed a Penseive to make that one go away.

His father didn't say anything else after that; only sat there, looking into his teacup as if it would do any good, or perhaps change something. It was far too late for that. Draco wondered if it had been like this before, the first time, but he had no real way to ask. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to know. Some things, it was better not to consider, at least not yet. Maybe if they continued to survive the situation. Maybe he would never know because his father, his mother, Professor Snape -- they'd all been vibrant happy people with hobbies and lives and careers, all of which seemed so desperately impossible then.

Perseus shifted his hand, let go of Draco's hand, sliding it instead over his shoulder.

It was a great comfort to him, and he accepted it with gratitude. His father said nothing, hadn't given a word of protest or made any sort of demands about the Malfoy name and the need for an heir. Draco figured that was a talk his father couldn't bring himself to so much as consider.

"The Dark Lord plans a trek to the north tomorrow. We will go to Diagon to fetch the things you both will need."

It was a little funny that his mother had proven to have a spine of steel under her pretty blonde exterior. No one else in their world ever would have expected it, he supposed, but he had seen her stand up to his father in full fury before and he had realized then that she was a power to reckon with. "Yes, Mother."

"What's the plan for tomorrow, then?" Perseus still asked, challenged, but he hadn't gotten in horrible trouble for it recently. He asked where Draco couldn't.

His mother shook her head and pored herself another cup of tea. "I don't know."

She knew. She knew, and she was smiling. "Right. Then what do we need to get from the Alley? Draco and I can go alone."

The idea if going alone was frightening. Perseus must have some plan if he suggested that; perhaps something to do with Draco's Vow. It was starting to tug at him again, and Perseus could feel it as the caster of the spell. "We'll be fine alone." Never mind that they were in danger pretty much everywhere.

Never mind that even when they weren't alone, they weren't protected. Narcissa eyed them, then nodded. "Of course."

"Thanks. We might detour for chocolate as well."

Good chocolate and medical grade. They spent far too much time treating one another for things. The mind's ease had become a vital necessity on occasion although Perseus doled it out sparingly. "And we can check in with you as often as you like."

As if anyone would dare interfere with them, but he was nervous. Perseus nodded, though, and pulled away a little. "Then I'll ask for the list."

The motion to leave made Draco feel quietly desperate. He tried hard not to reveal it. "I'm sure we can manage."

It was one of those days where he needed the mind's ease just to breathe. Never mind the agony of asking the Dark Lord for what he needed. Perseus pulled at him, and discarded his tea cup.

"I can owl Pansy." It would be infinitely preferable to asking anyone in the Manor for their school letter. Even asking Weasley or Longbottom would be preferable to that.

"Avoidance only gets us in trouble." Perseus was firm, and maybe it was the spell. Maybe they needed to get out. Maybe they needed a lot of things, but Perseus still wouldn't agree that running could be an option.

Sometimes Draco wondered why in hell he wasn't a Gryffindor. He let out a hefty sigh and agreed. "All right."

He smiled at Draco, almost relieved. Still, they had to speak with Voldemort first and they both knew it. Dreaded it and didn't want to do it, and he allowed his fingers to tighten, their palms clasped so tightly his knuckles ached. They had to go, and Draco knew it even if he didn't like it. He knew that Perseus was reshuffling his mind back behind his eyes, and he carefully started to do the same in his own head. The Dark Lord was still the most gifted Legilimens ever to live; the entire Wizarding world knew it. Luckily enough, Draco was fairly certain that he had learned Occlumency from the most gifted Occlumens who ever lived.

It was as close as he'd ever been to comfortable with a situation that was a tie.

They made their way out if the tearoom and started into the hallway, headed for the study that the Dark Lord was using for the afternoon. He seemed to prefer changing locations day by day, just to lay better claim to Malfoy Manor. Then again, it was most likely because he enjoyed putting everyone off-balance. He could hear his aunt's voice, cajoling and crazy, and Draco straightened his spine, notched up his chin for just a moment before ducking his head slightly again.

Perseus knocked, the gesture firm, calm. The door opened for them, and Perseus teetered at the edge of motion for half a second before he started forward. "Sir? Narcissa mentioned you needed supplies. As well as that Draco and I were returning to school."

He didn't look up, just concentrated on his hands. It was better that way, even if he startled just a bit at the sound of the Dark Lord's voice. "Ahhh, very good. I will, of course, miss you both terribly." Faint tittering sounded, and Draco caught the edge of a movement, one sharp-nailed hand cutting off the sound. "When you return, I will expect both of you in the Silver Chamber."

"Yes, my lord." Perseus inclined his head, appropriately scared and deferential. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, my lord," Draco echoed, dropping his head a bit further.

The Dark Lord accepted their acquiescence gracefully. "Bellatrix, my dear. Their letters, please."

It wasn't as if they had gotten off scot free, but Bellatrix stepped forward with their letters of what they'd need for the coming year, and another sheet of paper that Draco guessed was the rest of it. It was sad, but they would both take what they could get and be grateful for it.

They slipped out amongst further murmured gratitude. Even with the evening's impending visit to the Chamber, he felt a bit lighter, happier for the chance to get away from the Manor together, perhaps spend a few moments alone. It had been a long time, and he felt stupidly grateful for the possibility.

It was still probably going to go horribly wrong.

Getting a handful of Floo powder and stepping through to Diagon was like a breathe of fresh air. Perseus sighed audibly, then grabbed Draco's hand. "Let's start with getting a drink."

It was a little juvenile, their hand holding. Draco knew that they shouldn't depend on one another so visibly, but he needed it. They needed it, and he knew that Perseus was keeping him alive as much as anything else. He was mostly grateful for that, and almost equally terrified that it would stop amusing the Dark Lord as much as it clearly did. "All right."

When he no longer found it acceptable, they were going to have a horrible problem that would probably end with Perseus dead.

The weather was warm, comfortable, at least in warm summer robes. "You can guess why."

"No need for guessing." There was a pub down Knockturn that would serve them without batting a lash, and so Draco tugged at his hand, leading the way. They would undoubtedly both be drugged into a half-stupor by the time they made it to the Silver Chamber, and that was of the good.

They walked a ways, quietly watching. Diagon was silent; half of the shops were closed, another fair number in shambles. It twinged at him uncomfortably to realize that Ollivanders was closed, never mind the fact that he knew the old man had taken up residency in the Manor cellar. Sometimes things weren't real until they practically slapped him in the face.

The stood there for a moment, watching the alley as if it might change if only they looked at it long enough. It didn't, and so Draco did that little finger tug again and the proceeded into Knockturn.

"Maddening. I'd wager they're Snatchers just openly celebrating. Do you think that will all change?" When the Dark lord won, of course, the conversation they were expected to have in public. Perseus was good at lip service. They had to be.

"It's all up to the Dark Lord. He'll make things right." Or at least right in his opinion, which was a terrifying thought. "Let's stop by Borgin and Burke's." Perhaps they would have the opportunity to check that the Cabinet was still working.

"That's on the shopping list. I think... Giants?" Putting down a rebellion, Draco guessed from having looked at the list. There were attack and healing potions Perseus would need to brew starting the next day.

"Most likely." Dangerous creatures, giants. The half-breed who taught Care of Magical Creatures had always terrified him somehow, and disgusted him, too. It would be the same as having relations with a centaur or something, wouldn't it? "Potions supplies first?"

"Yes." Bracket their time with alibis, which Draco understood without having to be reminded. Perseus tugged at him. Shopping for ingredients would at least be pleasant.

School would be back in session soon; then perhaps life would he more bearable simply with distance. He wondered if the Dark Lord had been the same the first time he had come to power. One day, he would ask. One day it would be safe to know all of the things he only suspected. He hoped they would both be alive to see that day.

* * *

  
Occasionally, Perseus considered killing them both, because gods above, they had enough bone melting poisons in their supply bag. And school supplies, which was why a murder suicide was the cowards' way out. He still, against all expectations, had hope. Just a tiny flare, but it was there and he was going to try. Herding Draco into the bar was hard. Getting the barman to give them a room for an hour was easy, since he remembered Perseus.

Getting the idiot werewolf up there was so much harder.

Lupin didn't look at all appropriately sinister. Not enough, in any case, and Draco was twitching to himself in a corner, frown firmly in place. Draco hadn't liked him in third year, either, apparently, although the reason why was something they probably would never discuss.

"So." Lupin was eyeing the room thoughtfully, and he cast a silencing charm with a wave of his wand. "What can I do for you, Mr... Averis, isn't it?"

"I need to talk to you. We. Need to talk to you. I don't know what Potter might've told you." If it was nothing at all, he was going to be having a dammed uncomfortable conversation with the man as he eyed Draco.

The rangy man leaned against a far wall, carefully out of the line of sight of the window. "To expect contact from you or Malfoy here. Very little else." And if there might have been, he wasn't going to say as much.

Perseus inclined his head. "I don't know what you're doing or how you're surviving. It might be best if I didn't." There were so many places to start. "Do you already know who'll be instructing at Hogwarts this coming year?"

Lupin nodded. "Rumor has it the Carrows will be taking positions there, as well as Dolores Umbridge." His voice was steady, solemn. "There are a few other positions being filled. Much as the last time, some of the professors have decided to take a leave of absence for an undetermined amount of time."

"Slughorn is returning, as is McGonagall. Make of that what you will. There is going to be an attack on the Giants in the North. They need to scatter and move on." But Draco's Vow had started to tug before that, so Perseus paced, trying to work out what it was. He'd know when he had it, and until then the wolf was going to get verbal diarrhea. "Ollivander is alive, in the Malfoy cellar."

"There isn't a great deal we can do to help that." The fact that Draco spoke up couldn't hurt the Vow. "The Dark Lord wants something from him, and he is determined to get it. Neither of us knows as yet what that is."

"I'd rather blow our cover, if it comes to that, on something more critical." Like Potter, because that time would come. He was sure. "If you need wolfsbane, the packs serving the Dark Lord are getting it." He was fairly sure that keeping up with things like that were going to kill him with exhaustion.

Draco snorted. "Though I don't know why. Greyback would rather roam free and eat children."

He had to admit that Lupin had a spine of steel -- he didn't so much as flinch at that statement. "Yes, well, I'm trying to avoid getting involved in a pack. It never seems to have worked out well for me."

"I can't help you with the wolfsbane." Perseus tried not to feel any emotion other than flat nothing. "Good luck. We... I know there's something else."

Something he needed to say, something he needed to do, and the Vow was still there, making his nerves jitter. He heard Draco sigh. "We have a way into the castle. We aren't certain how reliable it is, or if we can get anyone in that way other than ourselves. But if it becomes desperate....."

And there it went. Perseus tilted his head a little, looking to see if Draco could feel it, too, that instant rush of release. "We can use it to get people in to bolster, or to evacuate."

Or a lot of other things, but he could see the way that Draco had relaxed. That answered that question, he supposed. "If you were to slip into Borgin and Burke's behind us with a Disillusionment Charm, might be you could Obliviate him. We could move the Cabinet."

Lupin watched him, expression thoughtful. "The Cabinet?"

"Steal it. Move it to where is the question." Perseus knew it, knew there were no tracking charms, so it was exceptionally viable, albeit heavy. "It's the Vanishing Cabinet. It's how the Death Eaters got into Hogwarts. Well, the ones who weren't there taking classes."

Merlin, Malfoy was such a drama queen. He wiggled his fingers in a vague, giddy wave. Clearly the loosening restriction of the Vow felt quite a bit better for him than it did for Perseus. Interesting. "Well, we clearly cannot leave it at the Manor. I would suggest calling the Weasleys...." He only sneered a bit. "...or Potter. They might have somewhere to tuck it away out of sight."

"Weasleys. As purebloods they still have some good freedom of movement," Perseus mused, watching that giddy wave. He needed to talk to Draco about when he was feeling those symptoms. "I don't suppose you have anything for us."

"Nothing as such. There was something of a disaster at the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour. Harry, Ron and Hermione have disappeared." Lupin pushed himself away from the wall. "Shall we go and check the Cabinet, then?"

Yes." Perseus shrugged his shoulders, drew up as tall as he could, and then reached for Draco's hand. "Let's go."

And if the werewolf said one thing, he was going to leave him as a mushy pile of fur in the corner.

* * *

  
The afternoon had been a special sort of bliss.

Sometimes, the Vow tightened up on him, kept a close grip. Draco didn't think that it was a warning, exactly, but when it finally let loose of him it was something like a full-body orgasm that left him high from the release. The fact that they had to return to Malfoy Manor and the Silver Chamber unfortunately put an end to that.

Perseus doled him out a narrow dose of the mind's ease, but didn't take any for himself. He supposed that was good, that one of them was alert to goad the other, but Draco just felt wonderful, lightly detached, somewhat beside himself, all in a comfortable, easy way that belied the existence of the Silver Chamber's heavy door, which he knocked on with care. He could feel Perseus's hand at the small of his back, touching, always touching. It kept him mostly in his body, at least, which was a considerable accomplishment.

The Dark Lord's voice bade them enter, and so Draco pushed open the door and stepped inside. No matter how many times they went to him, it always surprised him that the Chamber wasn't bloodstained. House-elf magic, no doubt, but still. It seemed quite the surprise.

Part of him wondered what was coming, and the other part of him didn't want to look at it, like a movement in the corner of his eye in a dark room, something horrendous and lurking.

"You called for us, sir. We've fetched your supplies." Perseus feigned calm very well, but Draco could almost feel his nerves, telegraphed through the twitching of his fingertips. Funny, how he could always tell, even when he wasn't entirely himself.

The Dark Lord stood with one hand on the mantel, bare toes rubbing absently at the rug on the floor, his snake coiled around one of the chairs to the left of the fireplace. It was never a good night when Nagini was present. "Most excellent. I cannot imagine what I will do without my favored brewers. Once, I possessed a fine potions master, but he met with an... unfortunate end." Just hearing those words made Draco tremble. "Ah, well."

"I hope this last year at school will make us even better." And with the Carrows at the school, Draco could guess what their weekends were going to consist of. Brewing, brewing, and brewing, or possibly even more of what they would get tonight. Neither of the Carrows seemed particularly shy when it came to taking advantage of opportunities for sex and torture.

Draco refrained from thinking of potions in the Silver Chamber; some things were best left unconsidered given the situation. "I hope that our efforts to improve will better serve you, my lord."

"Of course." As if anything else would be even remotely acceptable. He smiled, flat face relaxed as he looked at them. Perseus flexed his fingers.

"What can we do for you?"

As if it were an offer rather than both of them following orders. The Dark Lord gave them some imitation of a benevolent smile and held out his hand. "Come."

Draco drifted forwards, pulse speeding up as he did so, and the Dark Lord slid his fingers along the nape of his neck, making him shiver.

"Lovely." Perseus closed his eyes when he stepped forward, and seemed relaxed when he opened them, or at least feigning it. "My lovely, frightened Occlumens. I haven't seen you under the Veritaserum in some time."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, because that was never good at all, no matter which of them he planned to dose. Draco bit the inside of his cheek, eyes carefully trained on the dirty toes pressed against the pale carpet.

"Fetch it for me, Draco. I always feel your companion here is an onion in need of peeling." He was smiling an oddly dull smile, and Draco could only turn to fetch it, everything carefully packed away, not even to consider the heavy implications of that smile. His heart was pounding so fast that he thought it might beat its way right out of his chest. If not for the mind's ease, he thought it might have.

His hands were shaking when he brought it back, because it had been a good day. Mostly, anyway, despite the fact that this had been hanging over their heads all day. They were going back to school. They had supplies, and potions ingredients, and...

And maybe this would be the last time the Dark Lord found them amusing enough together to bother keeping both of them alive, and if it went to Hell on him, he was going to die. He knew it, not from some sense of melodrama but because there would be no one watching out for him.

He watched the Dark Lord unstopper it, watched him draw out the three drops that would loosen Perseus's lips. He knew he looked pathetic, sad and afraid, and that the Dark Lord could probably feel it as well. He was smiling and it made Draco want to run. Made him want... almost anything, really, but mostly it made him want to take Perseus and curl up out of sight, somewhere no one would find either of them ever again.

It wasn't going to happen.

Perseus took the drops, not quite frowning, and then closed his mouth, looking at their Lord and waiting for what came next -- fingernails, tracing gently along the line of his jaw, except there was no such thing as gentle in their world. Those nails were sharp, and the scratched line of blood made Draco vaguely angry, hazily afraid. Instead of curling up at Perseus's feet, he slid to his knees beside the Dark Lord and kept his gaze on the floor.

"You are so familiar to me sometimes, Mr. Averis. Perhaps it is only your father's blood in you. What do you think?"

He didn't need to see the way emotions would slide over Perseus's face -- he could hear it in his voice. "I think I'm very much my father's son, sir."

"And your mother?" The Dark Lord was deeply amused, his fingers parting Perseus's robes, sliding over pale skin. Neither of them had worn anything underneath them; there was no point. "A redhead, if memory serves. I can only imagine her as a Weasley, a greatly amusing thought."

"I probably take after her, some. I whored like her." It was embarrassing, and Perseus's face was already flushing hotly in mingled fear and shame when Draco looked up. "Please..."

The Dark Lord's nostrils flared as if he could smell it on him, that fear, the nerves. Probably he could, and he leaned in, tongue pointed and obscenely red-pink. "Such a shame that Rosier had you first."

Anger and hatred, and all Perseus could say was, "Yes," because it was true, it was a shame and a hundred other things as well.

"You're still hiding something from me, though." The wordless spell was thick in the air, and Draco hiccoughed in reaction to it. His whole mind was blank, and he did everything he could to project it forward, over Perseus, blanketing him in some twisted impossible way that he could hardly imagine.

"Nothing you need to know." Perseus's breathe hitched in his chest, and he frowned. Draco shivered, looked at him, _looked_ , and if wishing made any sort of a damn, maybe his wishes would come true at some point.

The clenching of the Dark Lord's teeth was terrifying. "I need to know everything. _Legilimens_!" He couldn't see the Legilimens, but he could see Perseus crumble to his knees under the weight of it. Draco had never seen a Legilimens on someone who'd drank Veritaserum, wasn't sure what it would leave behind or reveal. He just held still, trying not to react, to do nothing but watch, when Perseus went a little more slack on his knees, and the Dark Lord unclenched his teeth. "How very interesting. It would seem that Mr. Averis thought to protect you from me for not completing your task, young Malfoy."

Shit. Shit, shit, his hand was in Draco's hair, and his nails were digging into his scalp, making him whimper, making him want to scream and run. "Please don't hurt him. I need him." Perseus crawled forward on his knees, but Draco could only see it from the corner of his eye because his head was held still, twisted back while the Dark Lord stared hard at him, probably savouring the fear, the memories of what had happened that night.

"How sweet." Sneered, and Draco's breath hitched, his eyes blinking rapidly to try and rid himself of the sharp tears in reaction to the pain. "Perhaps this evening should include a special treat, don't you think? Hmmm, Perseus?"

What the hell that meant, Draco didn't know, and he shook, terrified. Perseus exhaled in a whine, shaking his head sharply. "Please, please don't, please don't, please, I don't want to, I don't want to, he _matters_ , I care about him, please..." Please, and Perseus only begged when it was going to be bad, when it was going to be very bad.

"I would be offended by that if you weren't under the influence. Clearly, you believe you're in love with young Malfoy. Let's disabuse the both you of that silly notion." Draco could see the tip of a wand pressed against his nose. " _Imperio_."

Fuck. Merlin, fuck, fuck, he was going, he tried to scramble loose, to get away even though he knew it wasn't possible. Wasn't going to happen, and when Perseus turned to him with a smirk on his lips and his wand in his hand, Draco thought maybe he would get lucky and die tonight.

"I think it's very important when two of my servants have such... close bonds with each other. I find you amusing, yes, but not to the point of finding treason acceptable." Perseus lashed out with a _Cruciatus_ that didn't feel right. The magic was all wrong, but it was on him and he was in pain but not able to react. He fought back, cast a shaky curse in return. They were both like hand puppets in a sick, twisted way that made no sense to him, because it felt distant and present and real where it shouldn't, and maybe. Maybe it was better just to start screaming, letting it run through him, roam over every inch of him. It was what the Dark Lord preferred, surely, and the hand was still in his hair, clenching tightly now, holding him still.

Another curse slid over him, through him, twining around his body while he spasmed with his hair in the Dark Lord's hand. He was sure he was going to die -- whether he preferred it or not -- when it stopped just as suddenly as the pain had started.

Perseus lowered his wand, face twisting with pain. "No. I won't, I can't."

Seeing the Dark Lord snarl that way was one of the most terrifying things Draco had ever seen. He wanted to scream, beg maybe, and all he could manage was a whimper. "Yes, you will!"

The strength of determination it had taken for Perseus to surface must have been immense. It seemed to have taken all of his strength as well, because the next time _Imperius_ was cast, he went under so completely that Draco sobbed. He knew it wasn't Perseus when the Dark Lord let go of Draco's hair, when Perseus advanced on him where he was on the floor. Knew it, and wondered hysterically if his parents had ever been in this insane unreal place. The feeling of hands on his arms was all wrong, moving wrong, holding too tightly as he rolled Draco onto his back. He hiccoughed a sound that was something akin to a giggle, and the prompt slap made his head ring. It didn't seem to help with the sound, though, because he made it again, unable to stop it.

It wasn't reality, Perseus pinning him down and stripping him bare; it was nothing that would ever have happened, but he understood why. He'd still understand why when he had space in his head to process the feeling of Perseus punching him hard in the face. It wasn't real, and at least he had the distance to know it even if he struggled fitfully, knee jerking upwards in a violent attempt to slam into Perseus's groin. It only got him punched again, but he hadn't expected to accomplish anything even if he had managed it.

His ears were ringing, and his eye hurt badly enough that he almost didn't notice the lean hand sliding down his thigh. "I'm going to fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked." The voice sounded strange, mechanical, and he focused on that when he felt the Dark Lord's foot nudge his shoulder.

It wasn't all right; maybe it wouldn't ever be all right again, and Draco tried desperately to shut off all of the parts if him that could be damaged by this. The way they compartmentalized their lives couldn't be good for them, but it was that or go mad, and he was as afraid of that as he was of dying. Everything spilled over and merged in his head sometimes, and this was going to be one of those times, he could tell.

"This is as it should be," Voldemort said, while Perseus pushed at his legs, moving him into a mimicry of their usual position. "You are both mine, and you serve me, not yourselves."

As if there could be any question of it. That funny hiccough of a laugh hurt his chest, and he reached up, cupping one hand over the eye that was horribly swollen as if it would feel better. Mostly it blocked his vision, enough so that he could still see the Dark Lord, sort of, while he couldn't see Perseus.

He didn't want to see him. Not now. Not like this.

It wasn't Perseus who was shoving into him dry with no preparation, it wasn't Perseus who was pushing at one knee too hard. It wasn't, and he knew it, so he didn't look, didn't let himself feel the pain or his rising hysteria while the Dark Lord smiled at him.

His left arm started to throb, and even with that half-step removal from reality, he couldn't stop the keening sound that broke from him. He felt ripped open, torn and bleeding, and the magic wound into the Mark on his arm intensified with every passing second. His entire body was one giant aching mass with portions that were more intense than others, and he tried to close his eyes, shivering violently in reaction, jarring beneath every push, every shove.

He wasn't there, he wasn't there, he wasn't there, it wasn't real, and when Perseus stopped, when Perseus fell back from him, he was smothering a sob that sounded half hysterical even to Draco's knotted up ears. The pain didn't recede, but Draco felt when it overcame him, the full strength of _Imperius_ , pushed back from control of his own mind.

The abstract idea that Perseus was so much stronger than he was lingered in the back of his mind as he reeled upwards, feeling his mouth twitch into a familiar smirk. His wand was in his hand, and he didn't, couldn't, resist when the word slipped from his mouth. " _Crucio_."

* * *

  
One day they would have peace.

One day. He knew they would, and that was what kept Perseus calm enough to keep casting medical spells and healing spells until his magic felt raw at the edges, already shaking from multiple instances of _Cruciatus_. They left together, he allowed them that much, sure that he'd fractured something impossibly. Maybe he had, because Draco had stopped reacting halfway through the night. He was still sitting there, staring straight ahead. He was going to have to find Narcissa soon, and see if she could finish fixing them.

He startled when Draco's fingers found him, touching his wrist so lightly it almost didn't seem real. He turned up his hand, gave Draco his pulsepoint, and just sat there, waiting for more of a reaction. He was hurting, but he'd hurt before and he would hurt again and there was no sense in feeling it, in wallowing in it, because no one ever gave a fuck and he was busy. Perseus was busy with Draco's fingers on his wrist, wondering where in his lives everything had gone to hell because it had, both times.

That touch was slow, soft, steady, and when Draco shifted and looked down at his wrist, it surprised Perseus enough that he gasped, gaze darting up to catch grey eyes. They still looked tarnished, a vague mirror that reflected the light, but. But. He was still so young.

He wasn't sure his voice even worked after all they'd been through, but Perseus swallowed, tested his voice. "I still love you." It wasn't the time for it, but he'd never picked a good time for anything of that sort. Probably, he never would.

It gained him a nod and a vague sort of motion. Draco leaned closer, and finally laid his head against his arm, as if that would somehow help. Maybe it did. He didn't have the energy to cry, but he wanted to, wanted to cry and scream and throw things, except it was easier to slouch into Draco, murmuring healing spells as an absent activity, something that needed to be done just to... Be there, to do, to help. "Tell me what you want to do when all of this is over."

Sometimes, he didn't think it would be. Sometimes, he thought it would be easier to lie down and give in, just die and get all of it over and done. Those fingers were still stroking, though, and when Draco finally answered, it was in a whisper. "Let's go away."

"Where?" He needed to pry, draw it out, move them both past the moment, because Perseus knew he could survive for years on the narrow focus of the moment, but Draco never had before.

All he had wanted was a better life, and here he was, dragged in again. Having company this time wasn't exactly a relief, either.

The silence stretched between them for a while, and he almost reached to nudge him. Almost, but Draco finally let out a sigh and spoke. "Father has relatives in France. Maybe there." It would be far enough away in any case, a completely different setting. Maybe it would be enough.

"Rome," Perseus countered, trying to make a conversation of it. "I'm a little afraid of your father's relatives. But there's a lot of... it's busy." Busy enough to blend away, busy enough to disappear. Maybe one day.

"We won't ever get to go. Not for long. Not together." Because the Vow was always there, tightening at the strangest moments and loosening the same way.

"We will. Rome," Perseus promised. He slid in another healing spell, almost smiling to himself as Draco's fingers laid loose against his skin. "Just think about it. I used to dream of Scotland, actually. Rome's a bit better." Warmer. Prettier. They could wander the streets, slip out into the Italian countryside. Hole up somewhere in Tuscany and brew potions for fun and profit, refuse to answer owl mail. Cook breakfast together and kiss goodnight.

It was a pretty dream.

"Yeah."

* * *

  
He hated having to seek out Potter to pass along things. School made that harder, and the one time he'd gone to try to see McGonagall it had been under the pretense of a detention that the Carrows had happily dragged him off to rather than letting him hide in her study for a few hours. He and Draco returned to the Manor nearly every weekend now, mostly, tending to things. No one asked, no one asked why or wondered or tried to stop them. He supposed there was a certain leniency they were given now. A forbearance of sorts, like indulgences, forgiving a specific sin in return for money or power or something. Anything. He didn't know what. Some weekends, only one of them had to go, and those were somehow an even greater horror than the weekends when they went together because he never knew what would happen then. Whether he was the one left at the Manor or the one left at Hogwarts, the sheer depth of worry was nigh on sickening.

They were still stronger together than they were apart, and they were apart again. It left Perseus wondering where Draco was, how he was, other than feeling the Vow while Perseus Apparated in jumps, searching for the tail thread of Potter's trace spell, until he found a miserably solemn bit of nowhere in the woods. He supposed they ought to have done something to protect against direct Apparition. It made life easier for him, and he was grateful for that small favor. Things didn't usually work out for him in that particular manner.

It was cold as the ninth circle, his breath practically crystallizing in the air. He couldn't see their encampment, although he certainly knew that it had to be close. It could be directly in front of him, he supposed. At least Granger seemed to be good at keeping them hidden, which was frustrating for him because his patience was frayed on a good day. He paced, huddled in his robes and dwelling on anger while he tried to make enough noise that they'd notice and pull him in from their hiding space. He had enough pent up anger, at them, at the situation, at being separated from Draco, to keep pacing. At least it warmed him a bit.

Again. Small favors.

They had been lacking in even those for a while, so he was mostly inclined to take what he could get. He had information and he had Godric Gryffindor's sword on him. The Death Eaters were looking for it left and right, knowing that it had been in Dumbledore's office. They had been turning Hogwarts upside down in order to search for it, although none of them had been able to find it. They knew about the Room, but the Carrows were too stupid to get into it and the others didn't know which Room to seek.

Clearly they had made an excellent choice of hiding places.

It hadn't been hard to visualize the place, because he remembered what it once had been quite well. And Draco knew he knew, which was just one of the hundred things they weren't discussing. Perseus exhaled loudly, and then said in his best failed indoor voice, "it's bloody cold out here!"

It wasn't much of a surprise for Potter to step in out of thin air. There were still people who thought he walked on water, after all, so why should it be?

"Hullo, Averis." As if he hadn't been surprised at all. Ha. Granger had probably made it clear that he shouldn't seem that way even if he was. "Imagine seeing you here."

"Purely blind luck." He felt his mouth pull into a tight line, while he pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. "I need to give you something."

He reckoned suspicion was only natural, all things considered. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"Something you need," he offered with a clenched jaw. "Just let me in, you bastard."

The clear reluctance was there, but Potter finally gave in to his demand, albeit grudgingly. A single wand wave seemed to be enough, and then he moved back, snagging Perseus's robe and taking him along with him. They stepped into a clearing that Perseus was sure he'd walked through ten times, except there was a tent now, and they were headed for it. "Thank you. Believe me, I've done more for you than you've done for me."

Green gaze darted his way. He always hated it when Potter looked at him, because he knew those eyes and it made him angry and a little sick. "Come inside.

"I'm only doing this because I have to," Perseus insisted, though he wasn't sure. He was half sure he might've kept doing it anyway, but there might've been less rage twisted up in it, he decided while he stepped in through the flap of their tent.

Granger was there, hovering over a tiny magical flame, and she gasped when she saw him. "Harry!" Shock aside, she looked terrible. Tired, sort of depressed and clearly strained. Potter didn't look much better once he considered the matter.

"Yeah, I know." Sure he did. "But he's got something for us, and it'd be nice to hear more about what's going on than we're learning over the Wireless."

He shifted, shrugged back his cloak to reach inside of it. He might as well get it over with, even if she stiffened in anger or fear. It was hard to guess. "The headmaster gave me this to get to you." It took him a moment, to pull out of a pocket inside of his winter cloak, the sword of Gryffindor gleaming as bright as ever when he held it out by the hilt.

They both looked at it, wide-eyed and vaguely suspicious. "Dumbledore wanted me to have this." It was more a statement than anything else, and he was watching it thoughtfully instead of reaching for it.

"It's the sword of Gryffindor, you dolt. He told me to keep it for you. I feel you need it now." And it was safer with him than in the castle, because soon they'd just start taking the place apart brick by magical brick. "Take it."

"I know what it is." He was looking thoughtful, though, and he reached out to take it. "Hey, Hermione. This thing... I'm pretty sure it's been impregnated with basilisk venom."

"And Basilisk venom can -- oh yes. Yes, that's just what we needed, Harry." She was looking at Perseus, but Perseus didn't care, because he couldn't feel the vow unraveling.

Harry Potter held the fucking sword of Gryffindor in his hands, and it wasn't enough. He stared at Potter for a moment, scraping through his mind for what it could be. What else did the little prick need to find out? "Yes, that's not all. Just. Just give me a minute. I..."

"Hello?"

Shit. Shit, there was someone there, and he tensed, all of them turning, and then Granger was on her feet and running, and seriously, what the fuck?

He stood still, stupidly, before he grasped a hold of his wand and edged towards the door. The voice didn't ring any bells for him, but it hadn't seemed like a horrifying reaction.

Once he got outside, it was clear that it wasn't any sort of a threat -- just Weasley, although the way that Granger was smacking him and berating him seemed entirely abnormal. "What the hell?"

Potter shook his head, looking relieved somehow. "Ron's... been gone a while. Things have been kind of stressful."

Perseus pulled his cloak more closely around himself, frowning at them. They were such strange, introverted children that the whole of the world rested on, and Perseus almost didn't dare hope they pulled it off. "I see." There he was, standing in the middle of nowhere in a cold, dingy wizard tent with a bunch of Gryffindors, and the feeling of Draco's Vow tightening around him. It had taken him two days to find them; if it didn't loosen, if it didn't decide that one of them had done enough....

"Ow! 'Mione!"

Bastards. He couldn't think with their tiny bizarre melodrama unfurling, and who knew what idiocy they had inflicted on each other because they had probably brought it on themselves and that left Perseus feeling angry as he tried desperately to think of what else Potter needed. It was supposed to be Draco's Vow; Dumbledore had bound him so tightly, and Perseus's witness of it involved him for so many reasons. He hadn't wanted to do it, and he couldn't see any way out of it. Maybe Draco should have done this himself, but there was no chance of it. He was the one with the Trace on Potter. He was the one free the weekend that the Vow decided to tighten.

If the Vow destroyed Draco, he didn't know what he would do.

Go crazy, he supposed absently, sitting down on the floor while he considered what the missing piece was. He was going to have to start spilling secrets, or the Vow was going to destroy Draco, and then he was just going to start throwing curses at school until someone decided to snuff out his life.

Again.

"Hey. Hey." Potter looked worried, his face twisted in an expression that he hadn't seen on the face of his father so much as once. It was strange to see, and stranger to realize that it was a look he recognized from so long ago he could hardly recall it. "Are you all right?"

"No." No, he wasn't all right, and he lowered his forehead to his knees again, trying to think. "The Vow hasn't unwound. That wasn't enough. What the hell is the missing piece?" There had to be one, and he had to be able to find it. He had to.

There was no choice.

He _had to_.

It made him twitch when Potter knelt down next to him, head tilted to the side. "All right, so. Tell me about it. How it works. I saw it, only I don't understand it."

Of course he didn't understand. That was par for the course for Potter, not to understand. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and then inhaled again for good measure. "The unbreakable Vow is a fatally binding promise. When a witch or Wizard isn't obeying the Vow, it begins to tighten. If the tenants aren't satisfied in three days, it kills the one who made the Vow. I've been looking for you for two days, and I just gave you the bloody sword of Gryffindor, and it still hasn't relaxed. Draco can't get away from the manor personally, he's watched too closely..." And he was going to be another dead pawn from Albus's games if Perseus didn't think.

Potter seemed to get that. Weasley and Granger were arguing, and she was smacking him on the arm and shoulder. It was an excellent distraction, although even seeing one Gryffindor hitting another wasn't enough to help his current state of despair.

"I'm not sure I can do much to help with that. Sorry." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Maybe if you just started saying anything that comes to mind it'll help. I wish I had a more helpful answer."

Perseus clenched his teeth. "Use the sword to destroy the Horcruxes. Yes, I know what you're looking for, we've been looking for them as well. I don't know how many there are -- the ring, the cup, the diadem, the locket, the diary, I don't know, there must be more than that."

"The diadem? What the hell's a diadem?"

It was like a chime ringing through him, and he shuddered viciously, the loosening rocking through him practically orgasmic. Merlin, Mordred and Morganna.

He exhaled, hugging his knees for a moment. Thank Merlin, thank, oh, oh, that felt like such a relief, and it scared him how close it had gotten for Draco if it felt so very good to him. "The lost diadem of Ravenclaw."

Potter's brow was knit, his entire expression twitchy. "But what's a diadem? And if it's lost, how are we supposed to find it?"

"Oh, bloody hell. I don't know -- Granger! Stop beating the shit out of your boyfriend and get back to serving as Potter's brain." He didn't even really lift his head, because that maddening relief was still sliding through him. He hoped Draco wasn't with anyone just then, or if he was, that the Dark Lord had decided tonight was the night to torture him with pleasure instead of agony.

"What?" Granger turned his way, blinking. Clearly she had gotten quite involved with her little abusive round of swatting. It was remarkably kinky considering they were Gryffindors.

"Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw," Perseus prompted, lifting his head at last to watch the idiots.

"Well, the first thing is that it's lost," she began.

"But what the hell is a diadem?" Potter was practically yelling the question now.

Granger sighed. "It's a sort of tiara. It supposedly enhances the wisdom of the person wearing it, but it has been missing since the time of the Founders, Harry. That's the thing -- it's lost."

"Riddle found it. I..." Perseus hesitated, his jaw tight for a moment. "Saw it in pictures."

All three of them were looking at him as if he was not in full possession of his faculties. Even Weasley clearly sensed that was a terrible explanation. "Seriously?"

"Fuck off. He had it before the first war. He liked to talk about that adventure." Perseus rubbed at his temple. "I should go."

"You should tell me what he said about it," Potter demanded. "Was that it? Did that loosen the Vow?"

Weasley looked confused. "What Vow?" The fact that Granger repeated it in stereo at least said that the Boy Who Lived had managed to keep his mouth shut for a time.

Perseus groaned, closing his eyes. "Unbreakable Vow, yes, a Vow between two wizards with a witness that cannot be broken on pain of death. The Headmaster made Draco swear a vow of fealty, and I served as witness. The Vow's been satisfied."

It was clear that Weasley and Granger both understood a great deal more about Vows than Potter, considering the looks of horror on their faces. Well. They did say that folks got to favour their pets, he supposed. "But for how long?" Granger blurted. "Oh, Harry. We... You didn't make a Vow, did you?" That wasn't for Potter at all, but was directed at him instead.

"It wasn't necessary." She knew why, and if she so much as opened her mouth about it, he was going to snap her in half. "I'm not just going to let him die."

"Maybe you should! I've never seen Malfoy be of any help, and I don't know why he'd make a _Vow_ , when he was always--"

"Shut up, Weasley. You're not living in the Manor with the Dark Lord, so why don't you take your inane prattle and shove it up your arse. It's exceedingly _difficult_ to get away."

Potter chimed in then. "He was protecting his mum, Ron. What wouldn't you do for yours?"

"Besides." Granger seemed a bit queasy. "Dying because of a Vow gone unfulfilled is... horrible."

"Ugh." Ron's face crunched up as if he were imagining it, and Perseus wanted to whip a rock at his head. Only there weren't any handy.

"We're not willingly serving Voldemort, except there is no way to get away. What else do you need to know to get on with killing the bastard?"

"That's a good start. Thanks." The fact that Potter seemed so earnest about it made him want to slap someone.

Granger waved a hand, catching his attention. "We are still missing the cup and the diadem. Have you heard any suggestion of where they might be?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange has the cup in her vault." Perseus cocked an eyebrow at her. "At Gringotts. The Diadem is somewhere in Hogwarts. Re-lost. I suspect one is as horrifying to get as the other."

"Bloody hell. How are we supposed to break into Gringotts?" Weasley was pale, and Granger was still giving him angry looks. Clearly he'd not been doing something she thought he ought to be doing, not that he gave a damn.

"That's for us to work out." Potter extended a hand to him. "Thanks. We're trying. Maybe... Hey, Hermione. Have you got anything like the coins from DA?"

She looked at him and nodded. "I'll fetch it."

"Thanks. Maybe that way, if something comes up, it'll be easier to contact us. It won't give away our location if it's in the wrong hands, right?"

He got up from the floor as best as he could, taking Potter's hand only at the last minute. He had no idea what was waiting for him when he got back to Hogwarts, and only could hope to cover his absence by feigning a particularly long brew. "That's fine."

"We're grateful for the help," Potter replied, and he doubtless was.

"Just... keep up with your Occlumency. Neither of us can afford to be found out." If they were, the three day head start on the Vow would be the least of their worries.

The tent flap opened and Granger returned with a couple of Galleons in hand. "These have been modified a bit from the ones for DA," she explained. "Instead of the writing on the outside of the coin giving a date and time, you had ought to be able to use it to pass information to us. I have two of them. This one," she held out the newer Galleon, "is a master coin. You can transfigure the outer writing to pass messages to us. The older one will pass messages from us to you."

"I see." It was an impressive bit of magic, and Perseus reached to hold it. "And the activation spell?" If someone else got hold of it...

"I used the Proteus charm to make them. All you need to do is transfigure the message round the edge. The coin here will heat up to notify us that you've sent us information, so I expect you can change it back to more closely resemble a real Galleon after five minutes or so," Granger explained.

"Effective." Perseus turned it over and over in his fingers for a moment. "Thank you. Perhaps I'll be able to give you information more frequently. Good luck." They were going to need it. They were all going to need it.

Maybe, just maybe, they would make it through this alive.

Somehow he doubted it; but a maybe was better than nothing, and he was well accustomed to taking what he could get.

"Thanks," Potter offered, and shifted to walk with him out of the protected circle of the encampment.

What did he say to that? Nothing, Perseus supposed, and shrugged. "I hope you win."

That quirk of lips was full of amusement. "Yeah, well, if I lose, I guess we'll all be dead together. God, now I'm going to be thinking of clowns all night."

"That makes no sense." He hesitated, and then stepped over the boundary, quickly hurrying away in case he'd been followed. It was past time to get back to Hogwarts.

* * *

  
Once upon a time, Draco had thought that there was nothing better than going home. His father had been stiff and proud until they slipped past the gates, and then he had always unbent beneath the smiles of his mother until they were family again. They were family now, only it was nothing like the way it had been. Draco was almost always using mind's ease when he was home. His father looked... dingy and tired, his face desperate and hard. The difference in his mother was less visible, but she was harder now, her face impassive. None of them touched one another anymore.

Not ever.

Well. Perseus still did, but he did and he didn't count as family. And touching Draco when they could get away with it was... still a small comfort. A maddeningly small comfort, and there were few enough of those. Fewer as time continued onwards.

And onwards.

His aunt was wandering around, making threats and generally sounding just as insane as she actually was. He mostly blocked that out for the time being; the Dark Lord was expecting him later in the evening, and there was no reason to add to his stress and general insanity.

If, _if_ he survived it all, he liked to think that he and Perseus could retire -- freshly graduated from Hogwarts, of course -- to a small patch of beach that the family owned, never to do anything more than lie in the shade and bake. Draco guessed he might as well be fanciful, because it wasn't going to happen to them. Perhaps it was pessimism, but Draco preferred to think of it as realism.

 ** _There is someone at the gate._** The announcement came from nowhere and everywhere at once, and the entire family stilled. It couldn't be the Dark Lord; he was allowed straight through the anti-Apparition wards. Plus, whatever mission he was currently undertaking had been declared the utmost important task of them all. Draco hoped to Merlin that it was successful. The week of the Easter holiday stretched long and horrifyingly before him. Any possibility aside from success was not to be contemplated -- not if he wanted to retain his sanity.

"Who requests entrance?" His mother was calm, collected. She always was now.

 _ **Fenrir Greyback.**_ That was all Draco really needed to know for his day to tie itself into knots. He was frankly terrified of Greyback, but then, who wasn't? The man took delight in infecting children, which was probably worse than eating them outright. He was a vicious monster, the sort in tales told to frighten children into proper behavior.

"And what does he want?" As if it mattered, truthfully. The Manor wasn't theirs anymore, not really. As a child, Draco had peered into the grand ballroom from the tiny windows of the nursery above, watching people in elegant robes spin round and round in complex, whirling wizard dances. He had imagined how it would be to become his father, his grandfather, to be the Head of the Family and know that his place was always going to be here, always going to be staunchly present and in control.

He knew now that he never would be.

 _ **He claims to have a new snatch you might find interesting.**_ Oh, that was never good, but Draco kept his facial expression schooled. He could pretend to be in control, even when there was no such thing. Pretend, pretend, pretend, until he got back to Hogwarts and Perseus.

His father was muttering something about filthy werewolves even as his mother nodded her acquiescence and granted the gate the power to allow them into the Manor. Draco drifted to the back of the room and settled into an armchair neatly tucked beside the empty portrait of his grandmother Malfoy. She disapproved of the current residents just as much as Grandfather Abraxus, and so she mostly stayed in the west wing, although she came to visit Draco on occasion.

It was nice to have company that he knew wouldn't betray him, even if she was just a picture of a dead relative. It was still something, when Perseus was at school and he wasn't. It was something to focus on while he waited for the Snatchers to bring up whoever new was going to be living in their cellar.

He waited there as the others shifted, moved around him. His mother was at the front door, a disgraceful shame. The house-elves all huddled in the kitchen as much as possible, or what was left of them, anyway. Considering how often the Dark Lord seemed to find it appropriate to destroy another one, his parents mostly encouraged that fact.

"What is this?" His father spoke, and he still sounded nothing at all like himself, not to Draco. The Snatchers were spilling into the Green Diamond Room, captives and all.

"They say they've got Potter," his mother replied. "Draco, come here."

Oh.

Oh bloody _fuck_ , no, this was.. no. No, and the Vow tightened so suddenly he could barely breathe as he managed to force himself to rise. Greyback was making his prisoners turn, pushing someone beneath the chandelier for better light, and Draco didn't know what to do.

"Well, boy?"

Licking his lips, he looked at the other boy. His face was distorted, clearly Jinxed, his face shiny and pink. He hadn't shaved in a while, and his hair was a black tangled nest down to his shoulders. He could honestly say that it looked nothing like Harry Potter, and he was grateful that the captive seemed to avoid looking at him.

"Well, Draco?" So hopeful. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

His chest tightened, nausea rising. "I can't... I can't be sure." He tried to keep a fair distance from Greyback, eyes skittering away from all of the people standing there. Just in case. He knew. Oh, Merlin, he knew very well who it was, and the Vow was searing him from the inside out, burning through his veins.

Maddening, and he wasn't sure how that was supposed to help him do his duty because it wasn't as if he needed the Vow choking him to know that turning Potter over was a horrible idea. "Are you sure? You go to school with him, you must know. If we turn him over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgi...."

Greyback growled, and Draco jumped despite himself. "We won't be forgetting who caught him, will we, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Of course not." His mother's voice was sharp. "Lucius...."

"I... That has to be Potter." It was an almost desperate assertion on his father's behalf, and Draco shook his head as much as he dared to, hoping not to get caught up in a lie. "Look closer, Draco!"

He stepped forwards, trying to obey. Mostly he looked at the stubble, the ridiculous hair, the tip of the nose, anything but the eyes. "I don't know," he denied, and turned away, moving towards the fireplace.

"We had better be certain, Lucius. Completely sure that it is Potter before summoning the Dark Lord." Cold logic, and thank goodness she was capable of it. "They have given me a wand and say it is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander's description. If we are mistaken...."

If they were mistaken, Draco was fairly certain he knew what sort of reward they would be receiving.

"What about the Mudblood, then?" Greyback growled, reaching around and snatching another of the captives.

Fuck.

"Ah-ha, this one, yeah. Look at your eyes flare, boy." Greyback smirked as he petted at Hermione's hair. She'd probably claimed to be Ravenclaw, that was doable, wasn't it? A bit of Legilimency never hurt anything, even if he was terrible with wandless magic, and Draco looked at her as if it would make any sort of difference.

"I think she's... maybe a Ravenclaw. P something. Dated a Weasley for a while, Barry or Perry or Parcival or.... something. Cleary, maybe." It was the best he could do, because everyone's emotions were running so high and he couldn't drag out his wand.

It would have to do, because Greyback snorted in disgust and dropped her to the floor. "Bugger, I might as well kill them all now."

"Better to be sure." His mother was frowning. Anyone who didn't know her would think it only an expression of mild discontent, but to Draco, it was more terrifying than any of Professor Snape's scowls had ever been. His mother never, ever frowned. Not like that. "Let's..."

"What is this?" Oh, hell. Aunt Bellatrix had apparently scented trouble because she was in the Room, stalking her way around the prisoners. "What's happened here, hm? Oh, you are terribly familiar. Surely... surely this is the Mudblood girl, then? The tarty bit of filth carousing about with Potter?"

"It doesn't look like her," Draco shrugged, squinting as his crazy aunt circled Hermione, and then the rest of them, sniffing at the air as if she thought she was a were, too. "But...."

"But... WAIT!" Wait? Wait for what, he wondered, and his aunt was marching right through the crowd of Snatchers. "What is that? What have you got?"

He heard the answer, and it made all of the blood left in him rush down to his feet. "Sword."

Oh, shit.

"Give it to me."

"'s mine, missus. I found it."

"It is not!" She threw out a _Stupefy_ before he could even think, and the first Snatcher went down. It made Draco take a back step towards the wall again, his wand at the ready in case he needed it desperately. "It's mine!" Hers, and anyone with a single lick of sense whatsoever wouldn't get between his aunt and something she wanted. The Snatchers were all down save Greyback in but a moment, and she was in his face, a ruby-decorated blade firmly in her grasp, and she snatched away his wand with the hand holding her own. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it near them!" Damn, and that made them suspect, but at least they were likely going to end up in the damn cellar instead of dead.

Bellatrix gave a girlish squeal and began to dance around the captives. "It must be them! It must, ha ha ha!" Her laughter was strange and wild, heard in bursts, and Draco's Vow throbbed through him in response. "Put them in the cellar!"

Now he had to get them out somehow. He had to break them out of the cellar and all he could do for the moment was stand there and watch and hope the Vow didn't drop him right there.

His aunt waved her hand, glancing over at him with a sneer. "Draco, move the lot of them outside. If you haven't the backbone to finish them yourself, restrain and I will."

His mother's breath hissed violently from between her teeth. "Don't you dare speak to Dra-"

"SHUT UP!" Bellatrix yelled, and all of them flinched. "We have a very serious problem."

The sword. Merlin knew where the old goat had gotten it in the first place, but it was somewhere that Bellatrix knew where it came from and that it wasn't there any longer. With Dumbledore dead, the list of people who'd get Potter the sword was, well. Gratefully not one that would involve them.

"Out! Get them out of here now! Leave the Mudblood with me and put the rest of them in the cellar!"

Fine. That was all right with Draco, so he used his wand and _Mobilicorpus_ to get the Snatchers up from the floor of the Green Diamond Room. His mother corralled the prisoners, and he had to breathe in tightly as the burn increased, nearly whiting out the world around him before he managed to get hold of himself. His aunt was yelling, and so was his mother, but he couldn't make out a damned bit of it.

He exhaled as hard as he could, getting the Snatchers outside, and lingering with them for a moment. He waited until he was in the safety of the gardens before he cast enervate on them.

They were sluggish, the three of them looking around for Greyback, who was still back in the Manor doing god knew what to god knew who. Clearly it wasn't Potter, or Draco figured he would be dead by now. Another spell and he had the lot of them trussed up for his aunt, and he ignored their begging because some things he didn't need to think about any more than necessary. He could hear Granger screaming, and his head was pounding in a steady beat. There was only one entrance to the cellar, and he had no idea how he was going to get them out of it.

The best he could really do was to hope that providing them a way to get themselves out would be enough. Crack the door, perhaps, fake some believable idiot slip because there were so many in the cellar just then, and he couldn't out himself.

Not to a goblin. Not to Loony Lovegood. Not to Thomas, because he was just as much of a Mudblood as Granger, and that would only end badly for everyone concerned.

Bellatrix was demanding answers, and Granger was doing quite well at continuing to lie even under _Cruciatus_. He mostly ignored the specifics because his blood was on fire and the most he could do was look for an opportunity to do something to help.

"Draco!" His father's voice broke into his thoughts and his head jerked upwards. "Fetch the goblin!"

He stumbled for a moment, and then made it down the stairs because no one really expected more from him when things turned tense like that. He was no good under his aunt's crazy sort of pressure. There was no telling what the goblin was going to do for interrogating Granger, but he supposed Bellatrix would demonstrate soon enough, so he clattered down the stairs and out of sight. He brought up his wand, casting _Lumos_ and peering downwards. "Everyone get back against the wall. I'll kill you if you try anything." Hopefully his shaking voice wouldn't lead them to disbelieve him and rush him.

Draco supposed that was one sort of way out to give them, but he'd rather not suffer any worse than usual at the hands of his supposed allies on either side. He opened the door with a spell once he was close enough to lay hands on. "Bugger, a Malfoy!"

Yes, yes, a Malfoy, what the hell else would he be. "Shut up, Weasley!" Moving forward, he backhanded him, because he looked like he was in better shape for it than Potter. At the same time, he dropped a knife close enough for them to get it and slice through the ropes. "I'm here for the goblin. You, move this way."

"I haven't done anything to you!" Yes, but he'd crossed someone somewhere and Draco tried very hard not to pay attention to the insane justifications that went with holding those poor idiots fool enough to get caught by Snatchers.

"When Bellatrix Lestrange says to bring someone, you bring someone," he replied grimly. A wave of his wand released the goblin from the robes binding him to the others, and they immediately slid to re-tie the others. "You're coming whether you like it or not."

Hopefully the idiots realized he'd delivered them a knife. The Goblin twisted, kicking while Draco grabbed at his arm, but he seemed to know he was had from the way he didn't bite. It was something at least, because goblin bites were nasty to disinfect, never mind the sharpness of their teeth.

Bellatrix was waiting upstairs, still torturing the Mudblood with a delight that was positively sickening. "Tell me where you got it!"

"I don't know, I don't know!" Screaming it didn't seem to convince his aunt of anything because she kept up with the curse even when she clearly ought to be asking questions of the goblin instead. "Please! PLEASE!"

Draco closed his eyes tightly for a moment, and hauled the Goblin up off of its feet a little. "Here's the goblin." He dropped him because it would please his aunt; it was expected and Draco did what was expected to survive.

He was stupid, clearly. Not suicidal.

The goblin was weakened, and he crumpled. His aunt whirled then, releasing Granger and turning her wand on the small figure. "Tell me about this sword! Where did it come from?"

Draco stepped back, out of the way, trying not to focus on whatever drivel she was going on about. It didn't matter what the goblin said or what the girl said. She would do whatever she wanted to do, and there was no stopping it on his part.

"Tell me!"

Screeching, screaming, things he wanted to block from his mind and so he did that, focusing on his grandmother's empty portrait. It kept on and on, and he clenched his teeth to make it through it.

"....fake, a fake, I swear it!"

That was probably not true, but he was going to hope that it was, or that they'd been smart enough to copy the sword. He looked sideways, watched his father edging in as if he was going to help, or be of any bloody use at all.

Funny. He might never have had that thought before now, but then again, he had never been high like this back then, either. Blah blah, torture, blah. Goblin screaming, Mudblood crying, blah. Draco blocked all of it out so that when his father's head jerked up, brows knitting, he almost missed it.

"What was that?"

Clearly they had found the blade. "I'll check."

Best to head for the stairs, slowly, slow and slow, giving them time to be bumbling idiots so they might already be free and ready to get out by the time he got there.

"Perhaps someone else should..."

Yes, yes, and who would that be? Draco tried hard not to snort at that as he reached forwards and tugged open the cellar entrance to slip down the steps. Purposely, he didn't cast _Lumos_ , just made his way further down with care. He found himself caught in short order, the knife held to his throat. "Don't say a word."

Great. Weasley.

He exhaled through his nose, and lowered his wand, waiting. It was hard to tell them to get on with it when he was under order of silence, but he was sure it made for a compelling scene to the rest of them. Fingers reached out and took his wand from him, and Draco made a sound that might have been protest or maybe it was some kind of ridiculous amusement. It made no sense, honestly, except that it was utterly farcical.

The conversation behind him was muffled, full of muttering and plans, and he wanted to say something like _for fuck's sake, cast_ Expelliarmus _and make the earliest run for it that you can_. They were as likely to listen to him as they might to a Kneazle, and so he kept his mouth shut instead.

They seemed to come to some sort of agreement finally, and Draco swallowed, feeling the knife cut into the skin of his throat with the motion. At this rate, the mind's ease would burn out before the Dark Lord ever got back to the Manor. He was going to need twice as much of it just to get through the night, he was pretty sure.

He whined, which was as close as he was going to get to speaking, and then there was an exhalation. It sounded like Potter, and then he was being walked up the stairs, too tightly and too fast for him not to trip a little with a blade against his throat.

"Draco!" Of course his mother would notice first. This wasn't going to end well, although the fire in his veins seemed to be easing up somewhat. Somewhat, and his family and Greyback all had wands pointed in their direction.

"I'll slit his throat, and I won't think twice about it!" That was likely true, too. Weasley would probably enjoy doing it. Weasley had none of the greater moral qualms that the rest of them had. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and tried to work out how to squirm and fight without getting himself messed up worse.

"Don't do anything rash. Just... Let him go, boy, just let him go." No wand in hand, but Lucius still loomed forward like he could do something.

" _Expelliarmus_!" That was pretty straight-forward, too, and got the lot of them wands in hand. He let out a ragged sigh and stood very still, watching his aunt with a carefully trained gaze. If there were problems, he knew where they would be coming from, and it would be Bellatrix.

If someone accidentally killed him in the heat of battle, it would be Bellatrix. Draco kept his eyes open, focused, and seeking an opening. His father got too close to Weasley, and Draco used the opportunity to dart away when the boy's arm went slack. It seemed to be some kind of signal, because his aunt was in the middle of the chaos that erupted, and Greyback besides. Draco tried to get himself out of the way, and managed to get a hand on what looked to be his mother's wand. He turned, and felt the sting of the spell almost before he heard the words. " _Expelliarmus_!"

The entire scene was a fucked-up pandemonium, and he yelled as he realized his aunt had gotten her hands on a knife. She also had Granger, and when she threatened her life, the entire room came to a standstill.

It would've been a focal point, a near win for his family, and a horrible failure for Potter's cause and probably caused his own death, because he felt the Vow tighten sharply. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes nearly rolled back, but then he realized there was a house-elf peering up from the cellar entrance and he stumbled and fell, hissing the order. "Drop the chandelier!" It might kill the Mudblood, but it might also kill Bellatrix. Something had to happen, had to get things moving again to give them a chance to get out of the Manor. Just like that, the chandelier fell on them in a crash, a cascade of heavy crystals shattering on ancient hardwood floor that had been there since the Muggles in that area had still been wiping their arses with leaves.

Half the room was bleeding, and his aunt was face down on the floor. She was scrambling for a wand, any wand, and the house-elf was up and moving for Potter in a rush. Everything slowed down, and all of the prisoners were holding onto one another. The sound of Disapparition clapped loudly at the same time as green light exploded across the room. " _Avada Kedavra_!"

Too late, and he just stood there, shaking a little and hugging at his arm before crossing the floor to check his mother. At least the Vow wasn't strangling him anymore. That had to be one small favor, and at this point he had no choice but to take the small ones and be grateful for them. "Mother?"

She opened her eyes, blinking up at him, dazed. "Draco?"

"I'm here," he promised, and reached out to wipe away the blood trailing down her cheek.

Being there was really the best he could ask for given that he'd just had to pull Potter's arse out of the fire again. He watched his mother's eyes scan the room for a moment, picking out him, and Lucius, and then her focused seemed to return. "We're going to need wands."

Yeah. And he was fairly certain they'd all need mind-altering potions before the night was out. "Yes, Mother."

Somehow, they would make it through.

* * *

  
Most mornings, Perseus pulled on his robes, straightened his tie, and grimly set out to face the day. It wasn't what he'd expected for his last year at Hogwarts, but it was grimly familiar in many ways though he wasn't the only student living life in fear of repercussions. Now it was the entire student body.

They marched to class in unison. They went to meals in step. They were all bloody fucking miserable, so at least he wasn't alone in his misery. Of course, most of the rest of the student body didn't have to see the Dark Lord on the weekends, either, but that was neither here nor there. He'd never expected Hogwarts to include marching, or staying in little well formed packs, but it pleased Umbridge, and Perseus just. Couldn't think past getting through each and every moment, trying to survive and look for opportunities to help. Most of the student body assumed that since he was a Death Eater, he was fine, delighting in it, even. They thought the same of Draco, and eyed them both with a certain amount of fear most of the time. Most of the students, for that matter. There were several rather predictable students who refused to eye them in fear. The better part of the seventh year Gryffindors, for example. The fact that Longbottom looked at him without an ounce of fear always seemed a little strange to him, but he was managing not to show it much.

It was mostly curiosity. He wondered why he wasn't scared, and when Longbottom had possibly grown a spine. Still, he didn't flinch or let his mask slip, even when he and Draco went to their separate classes at their designated times, and bore through the couple of hours apart which weren't that bad compared to weekends.

Still. There was never time for them to spend alone. They were always being watched, eyes on them all the time, and sometimes all he wanted was to be somewhere no one could see them. The Room had stopped answering, though, and he was fairly certain that meant most of the more.... favored... students of the Carrows had taken up residence there.

Too many needs, Perseus supposed as he waited for the Arithmancy classroom to empty out so he could leave without gathering a pack who wanted to follow him. He tidied up his books, made note that the topic wasn't particularly any more interesting than it had been twenty years ago, and headed for the door. Professor Vector watched him go, but she said nothing. Strict she might be, but these days even she seemed like something of a pushover in comparison. Most of the professors were walking a very careful line between what had been demanded of them and helping as much as possible, and so Perseus tried not to take advantage of that any more than necessary.

Sometimes it was imperative that he do so if he wanted to keep his sanity.

The rest of the students had abandoned the seventh floor corridor by the time he stepped out into it. He carefully glanced around before he began to slip down to the opposite end of the hallway, making careful attempts not to seem as though he was sneaking. A small, half-hidden doorway was down near the end, and he pushed his way inside, carefully shutting it behind him.

He'd hidden in the attic many times over the years, knew how to ward it beyond detection, knew how to get away with anything he wanted to get away with as long as he got there, even if it was annoyingly close to the Gryffindor dorms. That was fine, they were all piled into the Room of Requirement like they owned it. There wasn't any chance that some stray Gryffindor would try a new place when they had a set safe place already.

It took nearly ten minutes before the door squealed open again, Draco's pale blond hair immediately visible against the shadowy stones of the wall. He would have to remind him to keep his head covered in the future.

The door shut quietly, and he waited a moment before he moved up and cast careful wards to seal the room to prying eyes and interested parties. It made people who were looking for the attic forget what they were looking for and wander down to the kitchens instead, which was a long trip. "You made it."

"It took a bit longer in Flitwick's office than I thought it would." Draco's mouth twitched into something like a smile. He had come back from the latest weekend at the Manor so out of his mind that it had taken until Wednesday for him to come down again. "But I talked him into a bit of extra credit considering how badly the test went Tuesday."

"Like any wizard in England cares what their children's grades are right now." Perseus moved in a little closer, careful. He wasn't sure what might happen if he approached Draco all wrong, but it hadn't happened yet. He'd felt his chest seize up a time or two in moments of remembrance, but he was mostly sure he hadn't let any of it show. The Dark Lord hadn't been very good at breaking their spirits at all, not in the long run, not when they had friendship before shared trauma.

Not when they were determined to survive, at any cost.

Draco dropped his satchel and let his cloak fall to the floor atop it. "I'm sure they don't. If... my father was anything like himself, I feel sure that he might." They didn't talk about all the ways in which he wasn't himself at all.

Perseus snorted, the edge of his mouth pulling up while he shook his head. "We're not talking about your father." Or his desperation to get back into the Dark Lord's graces or the things all of them had done that no one ever wanted to discuss. "Your mother doesn't care."

"My mother loves me." He folded himself down neatly at Perseus's feet, leaning his head against his knee. "Hello."

Perseus exhaled, bending at the waist so as not to displace Draco. It was awkward, but he could stroke his fingers through Draco's shaggy bright pale hair, touch the back of his neck. "Hello, yourself. Should I join you on the floor?"

"If you want." Ah, but did Draco want, that was the question. Interesting, really, and then he cut those grey eyes up at him, peering at him with a little smile that he had missed. God, the fact that he was getting a smile at all made his own mouth curl upwards, a relief. "Or I could stay right down here and enjoy this."

A smile for a smile, a sense of loosening settling somewhere in his chest, from something he hadn't known had gone tight. Nerves, stress, all of it. He was so used to it that he wasn't sure what he was going to do when, if, it ever all came to an end. "Whatever you want to do."

Stay right there seemed to be the answer because Draco took in a deep breath and let it out in a steady sigh, letting himself go still and quiet beneath the touch of those fingers. For a while, it seemed as if they would do nothing more than sit there, his hand stroking slowly through Draco's hair, the quiet settling in around them. It was nice just to sit there and be peaceful together, not worry about anything that was going on outside of the attics. When Draco finally spoke, it was preceded by a hum of sound, soft and quiet. "It needs to be cut."

"I could do it for you." They had the time and the quiet. They were going to miss dinner, but that was all right. Perseus still had enough chocolate hidden here and there to cover dinner for everyone.

"And properly dispose of the hair besides." It got him another smile, and he quite liked those. "Okay."

"It's a pleasure." He shifted, sat and settled comfortably as he could without shifting Draco, pulling a stool over to him so he'd have somewhere to perch while he wielded his wand with care. They sat there quietly, and he was careful as he trimmed, trying not to butcher it too much. He had never been particularly good at it, which explained why his own hair ran long. Draco's was short at the nape and in the back normally, but now it was a little too long, soft and waving just a bit. He traced carefully, Draco's head tilted forward, and after a while he was mostly satisfied. It was still a bit too long at the front, but he watched Draco sift his fingers through it before tucking it behind an ear with a look of satisfaction.

"It feels better. Hopefully it will look better, too."

"You always look good." To Perseus at least. He liked Draco when he was bleary and his face was smushed drooling into a pillow, and he still found him unbearable attractive when he was a bloody wreck, because that was particularly wrong. There was something about him that just made Perseus want... well. Want.

He tilted up his head and smiled, and there was no helping himself. He leaned down and caught Draco's mouth, slow and sweet, and that was worth missing dinner all on its own. "I'm glad you think so."

"Always." Because Draco made him feel alive, made him laugh and smirk when he didn't want to, gave him something to focus on past himself. Because he felt good to touch and the kisses were easy, lingering and slow, still, when he finally shifted to sit with Draco on the floor.

It didn't surprise him when Draco licked his chapped lower lip, looking across at him. He hadn't said a lot about the weekend past, but it seemed that it was time to talk about it now. "I saw them. This weekend. They were at the Manor. It was..." His voice cracked, and Draco leaned closer to him. "It was difficult. Potter has my wand."

He tugged at Draco, until it felt like they were overlapping, Draco sprawled against him or maybe it was the other way around, but closer than skin despite the robes between them. "Whose are you using?" He'd get it back. He'd get it back the next time they were out. It wasn't the right sort of wand for Potter, anyway.

The wry expression he gave was steady. "Mother and I asked permission of Grandfather Abraxus to borrow his for a while. It isn't the same, but it works. More or less."

"It's never quite the same once you lose your wand." Perseus supposed he was lucky that this body's wand was close enough to do the trick and there wasn't anything horribly wrong with it as a magical match. "I'll try to get it back."

Draco gave a huff of breath. "When Potter dies, I reckon. Or maybe we'll be lucky. Nothing wrong with a little optimism." He tilted his chin and kissed Perseus again, dry and sweet.

Perseus curled a little, leg pressed against Draco's leg. "What do you want to do when this is all over? After school." He knew it probably seemed like a madman when he persisted on that topic.

"You keep asking that question. Do you think I have a different answer for every time?" He was still settled warmly against Perseus's side, and he hummed to himself thoughtfully. "Father's great-grandmother brought a chateau in France into the family. Somewhere not here sounds particularly nice, and it's more a country house than anything else. Vineyards and the like."

"I like hearing you talk about it," Perseus murmured, turning his head so his lips lingered against Draco's temple. "Also, you let me talk you into a beach once, which I still think isn't quite on, honestly. Wine and a country house sounds very nice. Lots of books, gardens..."

"Fewer sunburns." Hm, well, yes. Sunblocking potions and charms were never all that reliable, and he could only imagine Draco burning and peeling. He would probably grumble and hide in the shade or in the house, refusing to go back into the sun again.

"We could work you up to it. Ten minutes at a time," Perseus teased, sliding fingers over Draco's wrist. Even with their solitary habits and relative confinement, he was still tanned, or more tanned than he'd ever been before, even if it was fading back.

"Oh, yes. That sounds like quite a plan. Ten minutes in the sun, a couple of hours drinking in the shade." Their fingers slid together, Draco's folding over his knuckles to trace over the back of his knuckles, his thumb tracing over the joint where his thumb met his hand. "It's nice. Thinking about it."

"One day, we'll be there and we won't know what to do with ourselves." Spend a week or four stunned, he supposed, and then start fighting and going back and forth at each other, Perseus supposed. It would be a nice change if it happened. He liked the lingering touches, though, even if he missed the sex and the playfulness that neither of them were much inspired to anymore.

"Promises, promises." Draco's free hand reached for his grandfather's wand and he traced his fingers over it slowly. "Mine was hawthorne. Unicorn hair core. Grandfather's is rosewood, though. Somewhat reluctant."

"Harder." Perseus watched Draco's fingers moving within the shelter of his own hand. "Makes excellent Muggle instruments, though."

"Tell me about them." He never would have shown that interest before the last couple of years, probably had never heard any Muggle music at all at a guess.

"Guitar fretboards. I know you know what a guitar is, don't you?" He teased it, because yes, wizards had those things, but they certainly didn't have amps and the rest of the muck that went with Muggle music.

Draco's mouth quirked into a smile and the way he slid that grey-eyed glance his way made his heart trip a bit. "I might have heard of them. Or something like them. Imagine that."

"Rosewood makes it all sound better. Rosewood and ebony." Perseus shifted, loosened his hold on Draco to give them both more room to move. "I have no idea what a guitar would sound like if you started to make it out of hawthorne."

"Hmmm." Draco clearly didn't, either. "Shall we slip down to the kitchens in a bit? Father lost one of the house-elves to Potter. I know all of the Manor elves can make that chocolate lava cake that you like." Mmmm. "And I would bet it might be possible to get fish and chips."

"Really? Have I ruined your class barriers?" Perseus asked, still leaning into him because it was comfortable, even with room to move, to breathe air that wasn't Draco.

"Never." He was smiling, though, fingers tracing the bones of Perseus's wrist, thumb stroking along the soft inside skin, the nail gently pressing along the tendon. "But I will admit that it is tasty, and if it makes you feel better then I don't mind eating it with you."

"Thank you." He sighed it, focused more on the feeling than the words. Draco's touch lingered nicely, sliding over old scars.

"Whenever you're ready." Whenever they were ready, more like, because Draco was still touching him, and it was Wednesday already. Tomorrow would be Thursday, and then Friday and one or both of them would be called to Malfoy Manor. Death, taxes, the Dark Lord.

Being abused and fucked -- raped, though Perseus supposed there was no room for wordsmithing when it was submit to his amusements or die -- until neither of them could think straight to face Monday again. And then another week after that and another week after that. Perseus inhaled shakily, and exhaled slowly. "I'm so sorry."

Draco snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. What is there for you to be sorry about?"

"The Vow." He'd meant well, he hadn't meant to lock them into a hell like that, because even if Draco loved his mother, that line probably would've severed by now, given the circumstances.

"I repeat, don't be ridiculous. I made it willingly. You didn't suggest it or say that I had ought to, and it wasn't as if Dumbledore was going to offer me or anyone else anything for free." His mouth gave a wry twitch. "If it is anyone's fault, it is mine. So don't apologize. You... you've been more than I could have hoped for. More than I deserved, and you had ought to have run by now considering everything I've dragged you into."

"I can't think of anywhere I'd want to run to. Alone." He was antisocial, yes, in so many ways, but he hadn't been alone in a very long time, even when he hated everyone around him. And Draco was so much better than hating everyone around him.

The lift of Draco's chin made him drop his own, turn his head to the side. The soft press of lips was sweet and it made him sigh. "France," came the murmured promise when they parted just a little. "Loire. I promise."

"Ah, a region name this time. That makes me much more confident." And the press of Draco's mouth against him helped as well. "Dinner, then, and we'll find a space where we can?" Hide in their quarters at worst, though a little quiet and private was nice. Tidying up Draco's hair for him felt good. He'd burn it later.

"Mmm, I think so. Someone will likely notice we've gone missing if we don't make at least some effort to be somewhere more easily located." Draco's nose brushed the line of his jaw. "I would prefer our hiding places remained hidden."

"No need to make them come looking for us." Perseus held on, just for a moment, tightening the arm curled behind Draco's shoulders. "Right. Let's go, before I decide never to leave here."

"Hmm, well, we could. I expect that would require quite a lot of spell-casting, and possibly the assistance of the house-elves, particularly if we want to be fed." Draco laughed, and the touch against his wrist tightened just a bit. "Right. Going now, or we won't. I doubt I can bring myself to make that choice twice."

"Once is enough. Twice is horrible." It was mostly a tease, but true enough for Perseus that he stood up, and quickly tidied up all of Draco's hair. No Polyjuice, no voodoo dolls. They had enough trouble. Stray hairs were easy enough to collect. There was no point in making it any simpler for someone interested in making their lives more difficult than they already were.

"Three times would just be unforgivable." Draco sighed and began to shift his way loose from Perseus. "All right. I give in. Let's go find fish and chips, and the lava cakes." And the kitchens, where they could hide after a fashion, in a much more findable, less forbidden way, though all things seemed forbidden now. Perseus slid his fingers through Draco's hair, and stood slowly.

"That sounds like the best sort of promise."

* * *

  
Despite it all, he loved Dark Arts. It was such a wide area of learning to focus on, so much that could be done by practicing and defending against it. Horribly enough, the Carrows made it a hell in away that Doloris Umbridge couldn't manage personally. Alecto was supposedly the Muggle Studies professor, but she occasionally came to help Amycus with his class. Clearly the only thing they needed to know about Muggles was that they were dangerous animals who, by some trick or thievery, occasionally birthed magical beings. Blah, blah, etc., ad nauseum.

Draco was watching them with a steady eye, one that rarely moved away to settle on the Gryffindors, most of whom looked quite a bit the worse for wear. They were popular targets, as were the Ravenclaws, as were the younger students, as were... most. Everyone. Because when that sort of insanity took root, there was no way to stop it from spreading fast. Slytherins were no more safe than the rest of them, even the ones who were firmly in the Death Eater camp.

Even himself and Draco, on occasion.

"Today, we'll be practicing _Cruciatus_." That leer made his fingers twitch, as if they wanted to reach for his wand immediately, and not in order to get a good grade. "We have arranged for the first year Hufflepuffs to serve as viable experiment subjects."

Perseus grimaced, and tried not to let it show on his face, but the Gryffindors mumbled, a groundswell of noise in the otherwise silent room, compared to the Slytherins' stoic response. After all, protest would get them nothing but automatically volunteered to do it in their stead, and every one of them knew it.

He could almost feel the way that the Gryffindors began to gear up for a bout of righteous indignation. Some of them were smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

Some of them were too brave for their own damn good, although it surprised him when Longbottom was the one to stand.

"I won't."

Alecto's eyes twitched in a way that reminded him of Bellatrix, a way that made Perseus press his back against the chair. He remembered Longbottom's parents -- they all did, but there was knowing the story and actually knowing the people -- and knew how hard it would be for him. But an outright no was surprising.

Neither he nor Draco said a word. Neither did anyone else. They all just watched the way the Carrows moved forwards, strangely in unison, wands raised. As their mouths opened, Draco gave a little twitch, one only Perseus would notice, and then Alecto spoke.

" _Crucio_."

 _Cruciatus_ was a fine instrument, and it varied dependent on the wizard, their personal strength and power, their focus, and how badly they wanted it to hurt. It could feel like fire, like being flayed alive, like being shredded, like being crushed, like electricity in the bones, a whole range of sensations all at once or separately or across different limbs.

Perseus focused to keep his eyes on the scene they were making, that they were expecting to have watched, and wondered what Neville was feeling. It was clear that he was in pain, his jaw clenched so tightly that it was a wonder he didn't crack his teeth. Sounds were beginning to claw their way out of his throat, and it shocked him when Draco opened his mouth and drawled, "I thought we were going to torture Hufflepuffs. It would be a great deal more gratifying."

Or it didn't shock him, not at the root of it, but it startled him a little. Just seconds afterwards, though, the siblings stopped, and let Neville fall to the floor. Draco's gentle suggestion had apparently been accepted, because no one was coming for him next. Not yet.

God help them when they did.

"Shall I fetch the first years?" Draco leaned forward, his grandfather's wand held between his fingers in a delicate sideways balance.

Alecto smiled almost slyly. "Yes, both of you -- bring them up. I think the class can wait." And the anticipation of sending two student Death Eaters to fetch them, of being summoned and escorted by their sort, was probably an extra layer of fear on the suffering.

Clearly he was going to need to start brewing calming potions in mass quantities and slipping them into the food in the kitchens.

"So sorry your sacrifice proved useless, Longbottom." Draco's smirk was light, easy, resembling nothing at all like something he meant. It was doubtful that anyone else realized that it was just an all-purpose mask, but Perseus knew. Draco had just probably saved Longbottom from the same fate to which his parents had fallen.

Perseus fell into easy step with Draco once they were in the hallway. The thing of it was going to be pretending not to have found the weakest and smallest of the first years. After all, some were in class, others would be likewise hard to find if experience held true. The ingredients for Polyjuice were growing in greenhouse five, and a few more were carefully tucked around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, so he thought that perhaps Sprout was doing her best to protect at least the younger students.

He wondered who was brewing the potion. Sprout was miserable at them, and it clearly wouldn't be a student. The entire notion was nothing more than a theory, anyway, although he thought it was a pretty fair certainty.

Their steps echoed through the empty corridors, the only sound until Draco cleared his throat. "First year Hufflepuffs... they have Transfiguration now, don't they?"

Minerva. "Yes. Let's go find them with McGonagall, then," Perseus murmured, sliding his hands into his robe pockets for a moment. If nothing else, they'd bought everyone some time, because class had to end eventually, and walking took a bit.

By the time they'd moved lazily down to the Transfiguration classroom, they expected to find a scattered class of Hufflepuffs. Instead, they found the entire lot of them, sitting and staring at them as if they had been expected. Perseus could tell that it freaked Draco out a bit. "Erm. Professor. We've been asked to bring your class upstairs to Dark Arts."

"Oh. Oh yes, of course. Yes, they might've mentioned something about that. Get along, children -- come back here afterwards." That was odd of her, but Perseus supposed it fit his expectation even if it was freaking out Draco. Yes, she'd pulled something off, and he was willing to let her. If he'd had the opportunity to do it -- whether it was what he thought it was or not -- he thought he might have enjoyed it.

The Hufflepuffs all lined up in an orderly fashion, their faces less frightened and more full of grim expectation. It was a miserable consideration, and the look Draco shot him said as much even though he gave the order. "Right, uh. Follow me, then."

Better to have students who expected it than students who didn't, who had a chance of escaping it for at least a little while. It made Perseus feel almost proud of McGonagall and Sprout, because, yes, that was useful cunning, what they were doing. It made the walk back easier, even if it was miserable, because it could have been worse.

He hated it when they cried.

Amycus was standing at the front of the class when they made their way back to the Dark Arts room. Several of the Gryffindors looked quite the worse for wear, cuts and scrapes and a few blooming black eyes rather prominent to see. "Welcome back, gentlemen. I see you managed to locate the subjects of our current experiment."

"Yes, sir," Perseus offered with as wide a smile as he could manage. He stood by the door, one arm held out invitingly for the Hufflepuffs. "Hurry along, you've kept us waiting for a long time."

There were the faces that he had expected to see. Clearly Hufflepuffs were better actors than he had thought, or at least more aware of what was coming. Then again, he expected that expression had been on his face more than once recently.

Longbottom looked as if he had gotten the worst of it, blood dripping down one temple and a haunted cast to his eyes. He wondered if it made Potions class seem like more of a trip down the garden path these days.

Probably.

Alecto smiled, that wicked sharp smile that made Perseus grimace inside. "Would you like to start, Mr. Averis?"

"Of course." No hesitation, and he watched Longbottom's eyes harden while he raised his own wand, and focused on a Hufflepuff. It didn't matter that he was thinking of the Carrows when he cast it, _Cruciatus_ was effective as long as there was anger and force of will.

The first year -- seventh year -- whatever, the Hufflepuff screamed and writhed on the floor. He held it for as long as he felt it would be necessary to satisfy the Carrows and then finished it with a wand flick.

"Excellent! We will all choose a Hufflepuff and begin our experiments."

No one wanted to, but Perseus could fake it good enough, could press his tongue against his teeth and smile like a madman and gesture Draco over towards him so that if either of them slipped up the other one could catch on. He wasn't going to become beaten down like Longbottom for no good reason.

There were more Slytherin voices giving the curse cry, but a few of the Gryffindors cast it as well, for all the good it did. Nothing much came of it, and Alecto began yelling at them and used _Imperious_ a few times. Draco went sickeningly pale at that, and he could hear the grinding of his teeth.

He nudged him with a foot, and cast it again at the poor boy on the floor. Long enough to impress, but not long enough to ruin the other seventh year, not enough to leave them like Longbottom's parents. Just hurting, shaking with it. They had both been under longer. It explained the forgetfulness, the way that neither of them were quite right for whole days when they came back from a weekend at the Manor. None of the Gryffindors would believe it, but that was life. That was what they did to survive, so Perseus lifted the curse, and looked over to the clock and the Carrows and felt a sense of satisfaction that class was over very soon, seconds from over, and the Hufflepuffs would have to be escorted back.

"You aren't trying hard enough!" Amycus yelled, cuffing Finnegan across the face. It knocked him backwards into Lavender Brown, who looked angry enough to get up from her newfound sprawl on the floor and slit his throat.

It would have been much more amusing if she had used an Unforgivable on him. Perseus grimaced, but kept it to himself, and then the bells went off. Thank Merlin, there wouldn't be any new horrors for that session. Amycus growled, and threw his hands up in the air.

"Let's get out of here," Draco murmured, looking at the still-twitching body on the floor. The size of it seemed to disturb him, and Perseus couldn't say anything in particular about that. He felt the same way. "Before the Gryffindors get a leg up."

"Right." Perseus lowered his wand, and nudged the Hufflepuff with his foot. "Get up and get out of here. While you still have time." Before the next class began, because they would undoubtedly be looking for 'volunteers' for the next class.

"For that matter…" Draco tugged at his sleeve. After all, they might be asked to demonstrate Unforgivables in short order, considering their familiarity with them, usually from the Hufflepuff position.

"Right." Perseus moved with him, swung past their desks with Draco to grab their books. They needed to go, and it was for the best. The next class was so much easier. Everything was so much easier than that sort of insanity.

At the very least, they would do well in Potions. After all, their skills had only gotten better over the last several months. If anyone implied that they were anything other than amazingly competent at Potions, they would be a liar of epic proportions. Plus, Slughorn was twitchy about the fact that they were Death Eaters and he didn't dare to say anything to either of them.

Small favors; they would take what they could get and be grateful.

* * *

  
It wasn't that they quit looking for the Room just because the pro-Potter faction had moved into it. They all went to class, so surely there would have to be some moment in which they were all away from the Room simultaneously, for class if nothing else.

Draco had a free period while Perseus was taking Arithmancy. He ought to be in the library, but he knew that no one would dare to tell him that he should be anywhere but where he was so strolling past the Room seemed like quite a good idea.

Just to check. Just to see if he could get in, if he could get into anything, anywhere, if he could get as close to home as possible for a few minutes, just a few. It was possibly insane, but he still needed to test it. It was bloody lucky he'd gotten the damned sword for Potter before then or he would be dead on a floor somewhere. That combined with helping them free of the Manor cellars seemed to have loosened the Vow significantly because it hadn't tightened up since then.

The corridors were empty, so clearly it had been a good idea to check it out now, or at least that was what he thought until he turned a corner and was face to face with Neville Longbottom.

The thing of it was that Neville had grown. A lot. Draco had finally hit a growth spurt, but he wasn't anywhere nearly as as broad as Neville was. It was, quite frankly, intimidating, particularly in light of the fact that he had enjoyed picking on Longbottom perhaps a bit much when they were younger.

All right. Definitely a bit much.

Neville had been soft and squishy and sort of flighty, which made it easy. The flightiness, because ultimately they were all soft and squishy inside, even Longbottom now. Draco steeled himself for a fight because if he had to, well, he'd wipe the floor with the Gryffindor, but his shoulders hunched a little. "Malfoy."

...what?

"Longbottom," he replied guardedly, eyeing him from across the way. He was mostly expecting to be smacked in the face, truth be told. It was a surprise that he wasn't.

"I know what you did in class the other day." Yes, yes, he'd cast the _Cruciatus_ repeatedly, that was obvious even to a complete dolt, but Longbottom pressed on. "I don't know why you did it, but I appreciate it."

The world was clearly upside down and inside out beyond what he had believed, which was fairly significant considering the last year and more. "I'm not sure what you think I did," he drawled, entire body tense. It was unwise to say more but he glanced away all the same. "But if I had done anything, then I feel sure that you would be very welcome." It seemed wise to say all things considered.

It was odd to watch Longbottom smile at him, a long quirk of one side of his mouth, a little show of teeth that looked oddly relaxed. "Right. Good, glad to know you're not being obtuse or anything."

"Well, I'd say it's a bit late for that but... yeah." Yeah, and that was something like a tentative truce, then. Weird, but... a truce. He wondered what Perseus would make of it, all things considered. It was probably for the best if Longbottom never knew him all that well. "So, the Room. We've been looking for it."

"It hasn't gone anywhere?" He looked confused now, and yes, that was more of what Draco expected. It left him feeling a little less weird about the matter.

He leaned a shoulder against the corridor wall and glanced around. It was always possible that someone was spying with spells, but he didn't get that feeling. "We've not been able to get into it, though. Usually means it's in use, from what I can tell."

"That's... probably true." Because the Gryffindors were living in it, hiding in it with who knew what else in the student body. Draco wanted to punch him, but he wouldn't.

He licked his lips, head dropping so that he could see the stones of the corridor floor. "There is a fair possibility that we might need to get into one of the Rooms." If they had to, they could always evacuate as many students as possible with the Cabinet.

"We who?" It felt a little like he was negotiating with their leader, and oh, god, that was what had changed. What horror to befall Gryffindor House.

"We all of us," Draco offered. "All things considered." That was all he was willing to say about it.

Neville seemed to still, and then asked after a moment, "Why?"

Merlin. Perhaps they ought to open a school in dissemblance if they lived through this. Clearly it was vitally needed in order to save Gryffindors from themselves. Quite possibly Ravenclaws as well, although Draco found that he now had a certain amount of admiration for the Hufflepuff ability to pretend everything was just as it should be when nothing in fact was. "I think perhaps some questions are better left unanswered." Particularly standing in a corridor in the middle of occupied Hogwarts.

Neville frowned at him. "Bugger it. Come in, then." He moved to walk past the door, once, twice, three times, almost a restless pacing before the door appeared to whatever room they Gryffindors were using.

"Don't be an idiot," he snapped, jaw clenched. "I can't go in there and you know it. Bad enough you've got some sort of notion of things, if you'll recall what happened to the professor."

"Who, Dumbledore?" He squinted at Draco, and the door went away, thank Merlin, because if he went in there and there was a lot of Gryffindors in there everything would go to shit for him.

Dallben in a jumped up sidecar. "No, Longbottom. Not that professor."

"Oh. No one really..." Really talked about it, really cared, yes yes, but Draco still cared. Neville's mouth twisted for a moment, still squinting. "Right. Right. If you need to get to the other room, if we... Right."

"Right." Well, at least he got the idea, more or less. "If it comes to it, I'll say something. Likely along the lines of our current bit of discussion, because none of us want to end up the same way." Mentioning flying desecrated corpses did seem a fairly legitimate use of code considering no one else gave much of a damn.

"No, not really. Well, I'll let you go, then." Away from the room, away from their area, yes. He could go hide in the library for a while and read and wait for Perseus to finish class. At least Ancient Runes hadn't become a fresh hell, but then, he wasn't sure he knew many Death Eaters who were actually capable of understanding even every sixth rune.

"Try to stay out of trouble, Longbottom. Someone won't always be able to say something." Draco was only partially sure of why he had done it in the first place -- because Neville was a Pureblood, because he might be a Gryffindor but it wasn't reason enough to want to see him dead, and the Carrows were coming dangerously close more and more often.

The whole lot of them were completely out of their minds, Draco decided, and if the Wizarding world was going to survive they'd need a lot more than scraping Death Eater children to populate it.

Clearly all of this could only end badly, he thought, walking away from Longbottom with measured pace. The best they could do would be to try and ride it out to the end.

* * *

  
The old battle axe had the lot of them standing in the Great Hall as if waiting for some kind of message from on high. If Draco were certain of any one given thing, he knew that whatever messages she got surely didn't come from anywhere except the depths of Hell. After all, he had been there. They still were, sort of, standing shoulder to shoulder in row after row, Umbridge lounging in a great chair where the table for professors usually sat.

The other houses marched in, row after row, and Draco closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the professors join them as well. Some announcement to be made, then, some new horrifying rule that was going to come down on their heads. Probably something that would be so utterly appalling no one could truly believe it was happening at a school until it actually did, the way things were going.

He wasn't entirely surprised to feel Perseus's fingers brush his lightly, a touch of warmth in an otherwise cold-bleached world that felt entirely unreal. This, what they had, it was the only thing left to him. Some of that was his own fault; he couldn't very well confide in Vincent or Greg, and things had sort of gone to hell with them because of things. Greg seemed a bit hurt beneath the surface, but Vincent had become vicious. He was fairly certain that Crabbe knew more about what went on at Malfoy Manor than Draco was strictly comfortable even considering, but it wasn't as if he could do a damned thing about it.

He kept his eyes ahead, didn't move, didn't react. Kept everything tight when Umbridge started to speak. "I know... there are those among you who respect the law. Who respect the way things ought to be." She had her hands clasped, that expression of supercilious suggestion that they would, of course, do 'the right thing'. Even if it weren't for the Vow, Draco thought that he would rather bite through his tongue than give her what she wanted. "So it comes to me as a shock to find out that _Harry Potter_ is here in the school. This cannot be allowed. I will forgive anyone who turns him over now." Said so primly, so lightly, as if it wasn't asking them to ruin the war entirely.

As if a war could be ruined.

Even Potter couldn't be that stupid, surely, so when Draco heard the rustling behind him, he wasn't expecting to hear Potter. "No one has to turn me over, Dolores Umbridge. Your school isn't as secure as you would like to think."

The entire student body turned, and the doors to the Great Hall opened, revealing a rather pitiful number of wizards to back him up.

They were so fucked.

That was that, and he waited for the Avada Kevadras to start flying, only. They didn't. McGonagall stepped out of her spot in the line, and was wielding her wand. "Seize him!" Umbridge screamed, but no one was listening. She raised her wand but McGonagall was faster. The Carrows were unsurprisingly slower than Potter's ragged bunch as well. Curses flew, red and blue and green, and both Alecto and Amycus were hit. Draco was well-tempted to slip in an Unforgivable, but it would have been too obvious. Too traceable, and so he stood still with the rest of Slytherin house. They didn't move an inch, for or against -- couldn't, because to join the fight was to possibly harm their parents, and not to join was much the same. They were outnumbered there, even with the full seven years gathered there. McGonagall was fast, though, snapping curses and spells at Umbridge, backing her up to the wall.

Draco's head buzzed, making him blink and sway. Perseus didn't look any better beside him, and someone began to scream at the same moment that McGonagall managed to down that hateful bitch. Good riddance, he would have thought, except he couldn't think. Not with the way the world was narrowing down sickeningly to some point inside of his head that made him want to yell, scream, something.

He didn't, but other students started to just when the voice slid across his ears, his mind. Draco knew that voice well, that monotone whisper that felt almost like a snake's tongue licking between his ears and into his brain. Just a demand, a simple demand more to the faculty than the rest of them to turn him over. To turn over Potter, that they would all be allowed to live, that they would be forgiven if only they gave him Harry Potter.

It wasn't surprising to him when Pansy turned sharply and spoke. "Well, there he is! Someone grab him!"

She wasn't thinking her way through things; she was thinking instead of Posy and Polyanthus, of their parents. The other students wouldn't see that, of course, and neither did McGonagrump. "Mr. Filch. Please escort the Slytherins to the dungeons, and make sure they remain in their House."

As if the whole damned house were made up of nothing more than people who would hand over Potter at the first opportunity. Well, perhaps she wasn't all that wrong. Most of them had family who would be in the line of fire in case of a battle, and it was looking remarkably as if it would come to that. Given that they had been given an hour, it seemed it was going to come to it soon. Perseus's fingers lingered at his wrist, and he nodded to Draco while they turned, their little orderly marching line falling apart as they were herded out of the Great Hall. It was a relief not to have to march in unison like some sort of regimented idiots, and Filch wasn't exactly watching them near close enough to keep all of them together. Perseus broke off somewhere around the top of the first staircase and Draco slipped away on the second, skirting his way through the shadows until he came to the third level of the dungeon, a small cupboard tucked in between classrooms his destination.

He wasn't entirely startled when Perseus met him there a few moments later, looking oddly calm. Draco supposed he looked calm as well, though there was no way to be sure without a mirror.

They might have stepped closer; touched one another, pressed mouth to mouth, anything, he supposed. Instead, they stood there, him looking at Perseus and Perseus looking back, as if there were a gap between them that was insurmountable.

"Well," he finally said, and his voice was all jagged edges and sharp, staccato syllables. "Let's try not to die, then."

"I'm not very good at it." Perseus's mouth pulled down at the side, but the eyes looked so familiar just then, until he did close the space between them. It wasn't insurmountable, but all of the things Draco wanted to say were. "I have to help Potter."

He licked his lips and then leaned close. Their foreheads pressed together, their noses touched, and he thought that if this were the last time they saw one another, he would probably never be able to bear the reality of it. "I know," he said, and tried for one desperate moment to put all of the things he wanted to say in his touch. "Me, too."

The idiot needed the diadem of Ravenclaw still, and probably was only just thinking about asking, oh. A Ravenclaw. Or the House ghost! Or any number of stupid slow things that he hadn't considered. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Not any more stupid than getting where we are now, at any rate." He knew where to go; the Bloody Baron was a better shot than the Grey Lady, because the Grey Lady never said anything important to anyone. At least the Baron ought to be able to describe the damned thing. "I'll meet you here. After. One way or the other. And if the castle isn't standing...."

"Whomping Willow." Perseus pressed a kiss against his mouth, and then he pulled back, stepped back very precisely. Firmly. No lingering, they couldn't afford to. "Do what you have to. I'll be there."

"You had better." He wasn't going to consider the possibility that he might not; instead, he turned and headed for the Astronomy Tower at a run, hoping the Baron would be there clanking and rattling rather than watching over the Slytherins in the dungeons.

He didn't look back -- it was stupid and only Gryffindors looked back expecting to see what they wanted to see. Perseus would be gone already, off to play his part, whatever he thought it was. Draco was pretty sure he planned to get in place so that he could be of assistance outside of Hogwarts if Potter needed him. It was maddeningly stupid, because Draco was doing enough in the castle trying to find the diadem. Perseus didn't need to put himself in that kind of danger, but he was doing it anyway.

If both of them lived through today, they were going to have a very serious talk about the nature of idiotic Gryffindors and how it was quite clear that Severus had spent too much time in their presence. Until then, he was just going to have to promise himself that conversation and get on with things.

He found the Baron up in the Astronomy Tower because it was a spectacular view. Unfortunately, it was a spectacular view of the forces that were massing against them, and Merlin. There was no way the castle was going to stand in the face of that onslaught. All of those creatures, all of those powerful wizards...

And his parents were out there, he was sure of it. His mother was out there, still at the Dark Lord's side, while he got the Baron's attention.

The only thing he could do now was pretend that he hadn't seen it. Better to concentrate on what he could do, and so he focused on the ghost. The Baron never said much; he was reluctant to speak, and he never spoke to anyone outside of Slytherin House. That suited Draco just fine. "Sir." The clanking continued, and so he spoke more loudly. "My lord baron!"

The clanking stopped for a moment, and he fixed Draco with a tight look. The answering, "Yes?" was almost a whisper, barely a murmur.

He licked his lips. "I need to know what the diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw looked like. Harry Potter is in the castle and he's searching for it."

He watched the Baron seize up, body stiff and tense. "Why? Why does that idiot need it? It's done nothing but bring ruin!"

In for a penny, in for a pound. If Potter lost, the Vow would be done, and if they lived through it then they could at least run. They would have to run. "The last person to have it was He Who Shall Not Be Named. He... desecrated the diadem. If it can be found, then Potter can put a stop to all of the people massed outside of the castle, waiting to storm the walls and kill as many as possible, children or no."

"Potter's going to destroy it?" Yes, yes he was, and Draco nodded to the grizzled old ghost in the fine bloody clothing. He watched the ghost's facial expression shift, twisting again for a moment. "The Riddle boy brought it back to the school with him."

Of course he did. "But what does it look like? And where did he put it?"

"It was beautiful. Sapphire and silver, woven with the most delicate magics. He stored it somewhere, to come back for it, I always thought." And if the building was still standing, he'd no doubt reclaim it again. "But he never came back."

"And he's outside of the walls now." Draco took a deep breath. "Thank you, Baron."

There were only so many places where it might be hidden. In fact, he had a feeling that he knew exactly where it would be if only he looked there. This was going to take bloody forever and the Vow was starting to hum and shiver on his skin. The Baron nodded to him, and Draco moved to slip back down the stairs.

Best to get to it, then, because that was the right thing to do, to get the diadem for the idiot, to help them destroy it and then whatever came next, and on and on until it was done. It seemed like such a little thing, such a reachable step, but it wasn't the last one, and he was suddenly so tired and so wound up at once that when he turned to past the last step, he nearly jerked with the force of his surprise.

Greg was leaning against the wall, and Vincent was practically shoulder-to-nose with him, making Draco's head fly up to look him in the face.

Shit.

"Wondered where you were going when you broke off. We lost track of Perseus, but..." But Draco was easier to find, which was going to be problematic for getting back to Potter with key information, or even getting into the Room of Requirement.

Draco's molars ground together, his mind running in violent loops. "The Dark Lord left something here. I need to find it before Potter does."

"I knew you weren't going to stand for rotting in the dungeons." Vincent sounded far too chipper for Draco's comfort, but Draco shrugged and shifted to push past them on his way down the stairs.

Greg fell into step behind them, saying nothing. At least something in his life was consistent. "I think I know where to go. I'm looking for..." Better not to say it exactly. "Some kind of headpiece. A hat or something, I don't know. Come on."

"A hat?" Vincent sounded confused, and Draco mostly wished a hole would open up on the stairs, and swallow Vincent whole just then, sparing him some of the grating pro-Voldemort presence. "Right."

"Right." Well, he wasn't going to be able to get rid of them, he was sure of that much. He was going to have to be careful.

Greg's voice was soft when he spoke. "What about everybody outside?"

Like he had an answer. "We need to worry about what's going on inside for now."

"When the time comes, we'll all... work together." Like Vincent had a single bloody idea. Draco focused, heading for the room, hoping that they were getting there before or after Potter but not at the same time. He was in no mood for epic disasters.

The sounds of the castle coming alive filtered even as far up as they had gone, voices and shouting and stone shifting and moving in ways that weren't natural, even considering the magic of Hogwarts. By the time they made it to the Room and paced outside three times, Draco was fairly certain Potter wasn't there yet, though he hoped it was more that he had been and gone. "Come on."

Speed was important, and then finding Potter. Finding Potter and hoping he'd still trust that Draco was trying to do his best to help him, to help the bloody cause that was the Vow etched into his bones. "So, we're looking for a hat. And that's all?"

"Yeah, or some kind of headpiece. Think hats or berets or..." Surely the crown would be hidden in a stack of them someplace. It seemed like the right idea. "...stuff like that. Let's spread out a bit."

Greg looked at Vincent, and Vincent looked at Draco, and this was all going to end badly.

"Weirdest thing yet," Vincent sighed, turning his back on them and walking forward. It was as good a tactic as any. "How we will know it?"

It was all he could do not to be a sarcastic bastard. "I expect it'll feel Dark enough that you will notice it." Greg snorted, but Vincent didn't, and Draco supposed that was that. All he needed to do was move faster than the two of them and keep moving, eyes scanning the piles of junk for just. Just a diadem, just an overblown tiara. Silver and sapphire, the Baron said. Delicate magics, and they would have to be to do all of the things it was rumored to do.

The funny thing was that the Dark Lord had made the effort to find it and make it into... well, whatever it was. Draco wondered how many lost items he had gathered over the years, and what exactly they did. Whatever it was, he was a hundred percent certain that it would be ridiculously nasty. He would have to figure some way to get at it without touching it or letting Crabbe and Goyle know that he had it.

He was just about to suggest that they split up when Vincent let out a hiss of breath. "I hear something."

"It's just pixies. There's a nest in here some...." Except he heard it, as well, voices, and his heart dropped as they all held up their wands, preparing for a fight. Fucking Potter, how did he always get to the exact place where he should never be? The Vow's stranglehold crept up on him, and he clenched his teeth as they rounded a corner and found him and Granger. Merlin's fucking beard. "Hello, Potter."

"Malfoy." At least there was the expected distrust in his voice. That had to count for something, right? "Imagine finding you here."

Vincent was practically vibrating at his side. This was going to go balls up, he could already tell. "Yeah, well. You've got something of mine. My mother's wand, as well, so hand them over."

Potter didn't look nearly as scared as he should. It was annoying. "I think I'll keep them if it's all the same to you. After all, you have one there."

So many reasons to hate him. "It's my grandfather's. It isn't the same... it doesn't understand me, so to speak. I want mine back."

"Don't be a prat, Draco!" Crabbe moved forward, all tension and anger. He wasn't sure where Goyle was, and he didn't plan on looking for him so long as they were in this standoff. "Kill him now!"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, and he lifted his wand to hit Crabbe with a stunning spell just as Weasley barreled into sight, yelling something about attacking his girlfriend. Which was madness, but it saved him from having to hit Crabbe with a stunning spell because the idiot threw out a damned Fiendfyre, and they were stupidly hard to control when one was a brilliant wizard. Crabbe wasn't a brilliant wizard, and Draco swore he didn't shriek at all when the thing roared forward and then twisted and made a rush at them instead, breaking loose from Crabbe's wand. At least they would probably die and he wouldn't have to face Potter and friends with that girlish shriek still echoing. Then he realized it was still sounding and he glanced back to see the Weasel running in the opposite direction.

It was a stupid thing to be thinking about someone hearing him shriek when Fiendfyre was on the loose, but they did say the thoughts before one died tended to be inane. Something like, _Funny, I don't recall that bus barreling towards me_ , or possibly bizarre thoughts about Crups. At least he could be considered consistent, particularly since they were all quite busy running for their lives at the moment.

They had to get back to the door, and that would take navigating piles of flaming trash, old stored things, some of them important, some of them not, but there was so much fire in the place and he couldn't tell where he was running for all of the flames making the place look so wildly different. Then the creature looped back on them somehow, leaving Draco nowhere to go but up.

That wasn't much of an option. To be quite honest, it fucking sucked because fire always, always went up. Goyle was behind him, and Crabbe, too. The pile of desks made a rickety, poorly thought out sort of ladder, but he would take what get could get. If that meant that he could put off dying for another three and a half minutes, he supposed that he ought to be grateful even if he was going to die a crispy mess. Then Perseus would do something stupid and not even bargain for an extra three and a half minutes, which really pissed him off, because it was frankly insulting to come so close to what felt like an end and get killed by a dolt of a Death Eater _in training_ , not even a real Death Eater!

He deserved a better death than that.

Draco started to cast water spells once he reached the top of the pillar for all the good it would do, and tried to think of other things he could do to keep himself alive longer.

The available space for standing wasn't much, and the smoke was thick and acrid, weighing heavy in his lungs. Greg made it in beside him and the entire pile wobbled horrifyingly at the shift in weight. Draco glanced down just in time to see Crabbe lose his grip and go tumbling down into the fire. Some part of him thought that later, if they lived, he would never forget that moment, that terrible flash of realization. Another part of him figured there wasn't much point in worrying about that becoming a reality. He was half sure Crabbe shouted something except the roar of the Fiendfyre was too great, too all-consuming to be heard over. He couldn't see it clearly anymore, for the mounds of burning and the smoke, but it was getting hard to breathe and it was too hot already, never mind the Vow wound tight around him.

Then he heard Potter's shout of, "Take my hand!"

Bloody fucking hell. The jammy bastard had a broom, and he had come back like a complete moron so that they could all die together.

Just because he thought Potter was insane was no reason not to take the offer. Draco threw out a hand and so did Goyle, because Potter wasn't alone. The first pass missed, and the desks began to totter dangerously as the fire licked its way through them below, burning everything in sight.

He kept his hand thrust up, though, hoping, even when he felt the desks start to slip away, giving beneath his feet with fire. The tight sudden clutch of fingers, and the way his arm yanked as he was hauled forward at broom-speed was shocking. The fact that Potter somehow managed to give him enough of a jerk to get him up on the broom said one hell of a lot about his flying abilities, as if Gryffindor's relentless winning streak hadn't said enough.

The fire raged violently around them, and Draco glanced back to see what looked like a dragon's head, mouth open and flaming, aiming right at them. He was pretty sure he made that stupid girlish squeak again, and wrapped his arms more tightly around Potter before closing his eyes. It was better not to see ignominious death coming straight at him. It was better just to hold on and shut his eyes and hope they found a door, any door -- how was it that the Room of Requirement couldn't conjure up a door when they so desperately needed one? They needed that more than they needed that damned diadem, maybe, because everything in the Room would become nothing more than slag. The only thing Fiendfyre couldn't burn through was stone.

Somehow, Potter kept flying, and suddenly Draco knew where they were, more or less. The fourth arch from the right had taken spell-damage at some point, a familiar pattern, and there was the door before them. The Fiendfyre seemed to realize it as well because it became larger, hotter, trying desperately to reach them and claim them before they could get away from it.

Out the door to freedom, oh, Merlin, yes, and he could feel it when the door gaped open for them, a sudden rush of cold air that made the Fiendfyre bigger. If that was even possible. He felt the surge of heat smack close against them when Potter finally crashed into the flagstone floor as stone doors slammed behind them, and he decided not to think about when in that escapade he'd reopened his damned eyes.

The Weasel and Granger and Goyle were all a tangled, panting mess of people and brooms, and Draco was fairly certain that he was bruised all over from their landing. Potter was groaning something fierce, making Draco scrabble for his grandfather's wand. Surely something had to be causing it, right? " _Finite_!"

It didn't work, not really, although he was pretty sure there were wands drawn on him before he could do much more than blink.

"I thought he was hexed!" It was a protest and a plea at the same time and oh, bugger, Goyle would hear that, but there was no backing out of it. Draco got himself more solidly to his feet, and started to try to shake off the fear and adrenaline. "You just saved my life."

"Yeah," Potter muttered, and he looked a right mess. He was smudged with ash, pale as a sheet beneath the grey streaks, and his eyes were just a little glazed. "Yeah."

"Draco's Marked. He's a Death Eater," Greg said slowly. "Crabbe wasn't. Not yet. But...."

"Yeah," Potter said again, and Draco put a hand to his forehead.

Crabbe was dead. Crabbe, and that hurt, actually. They hadn't been good friends in a couple of years or maybe even longer, but they had been once. It was a complete disaster, and Draco felt his shoulders slump at the thought. It was no wonder Goyle had something to say, really, and there was only one thing he could do about it. Granger and Weasley were eyeing Potter worriedly, and Draco figured if they hexed him, he'd just have to live with it.

" _Obliviate_!"

Gregory dropped like a stone, and Draco only saw Hermione's wand twitch. She frowned, but let him be. "Go, run away before anyone else sees you. We're fine."

"Potter looks like somebody smacked him in the back of the head with a really heavy broomstick." It was more an observation than anything else. He shook his own head for a moment. "Perseus went outside to see what he could manage." And he was still inside, which clearly made him a coward. He had thought he was helping, and the Vow seemed to have let up a little. He had no idea what to do now.

"What on earth possessed him?" Hermione turned to look hard at Harry, casting a quick healing spell over him. It still didn't do anything for the glazed eyes. "You should bring him back inside."

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Potter. "It's me. Me and the snake."

What the hell?

"Oh god. Harry..." Weasley's face was drawn, horrified when he spoke. That made sense to them, which was nice, so Draco decided to stick around for a moment and see if any of their knowing-things rubbed off on him at all.

"Look." Potter was coming around, clearly. "I... We'll work it out. I think. I mean. I think I've known, but... he's at the Shack now. And I'm sorry, Malfoy, but Sn-"

"Don't!" Just. He didn't want to hear it. "Don't say it. Just... don't say it."

He'd very pointedly not considered it, and now was not the time to start. "I think we need to go to the shack," he said instead of whatever he'd been about to say before. "I have to try to kill him and the snake. Are you coming?"

Fuck yes, he was going. His expression probably said it, and Weasley groaned. "Harry, seriously? We're going to make a much larger target."

“Then I'll get there some other way," Draco snapped, "but I am going." If Perseus was with the Dark Lord, and Potter had just seen it, then... then that was never good. Maybe he'd been caught out. Maybe...

Maybe this was going to end just as badly as it always had, and Draco didn't know if he could live with that.

* * *

  
Getting to the shack had been hard -- getting there and finding it was already occupied was harder, made their closeness to the castle so much more real. It was an excellent place to get to them, though, so Perseus put on his face of eager little servant.

"My lord." Calling attention to himself was almost certainly a very bad idea. Not doing so was probably worse, though, especially with the way Lucius was cowering in a corner. The exultation on the Dark Lord's face said one thing, but Perseus well knew that could change at the drop of a hat.

Still, he waited to be acknowledged, waited for their madman leadership to smile wickedly in his direction. "My lord, what can I do to help?"

The look that earned him sent chills down his spine. "Ah. Excellent. I was just suggesting that Lucius step out to locate you." As if he would. "Do you know, young Averis, what this is?" His fingers held Dumbledore's wand gently between his fingertips.

Yes. Yes, god, he'd desecrated a grave to get it. "The elder wand." Perseus straightened his shoulders, still looking at it. "It was Headmaster Dumbledore's."

Those snake-like lips twitched, his nostrils flaring. "Yes. Yes, the elder wand. Do you know... this wand, it isn't behaving for me as it ought. Do you know why?" His fingers continued to twirl it lazily.

Maybe. Perseus exhaled unsteadily, scared in a way he hadn't been before, and knowing that the Dark Lord could sense it. "Because someone who wasn't you disarmed Headmaster Dumbledore." Killed him, and Perseus focused on that thought, made it easy to be plucked out of his head.

"Precisely." Voldemort stepped closer to him, and he tried not to shy away from him. Tried, but it was difficult, and he felt sharp fingernails tracing along the line of his jaw. "You are the one who killed Dumbledore for me. I know that young Malfoy was given the task, but... he has been such a disappointment for me."

"I didn't think it would matter. It needed to be done, and I did it..." Perseus tried not to let his voice shake at all. Better him than Draco, because he had committed the act. He had killed Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord would accept that as true and real.

He hummed, a low sound with more similarity to the rattle of a snake than anything else. "It is most... unfortunate.... that this is necessary, dear, dear Perseus. You have been loyal to me, so much more than your father."

It was unexpected -- the sharp slice of pain low in his belly that came. He had expected _Avada Kedavra_ ; that or _Cruciatus_ until he couldn't think or live or breathe or be. Not a blade, pushing into him and doing... things. Bad things.

Killing him, gutting him. Perseus inhaled, and it hurt, hitched in his chest. "Oh, please..." Please, he didn't want to die. He didn't need to die, disarming could've done it, but that wasn't his way. Wasn't neat enough, and the Dark Lord was close enough that Perseus could smell dry grass and scales in the air, mingling with blood. "Please..."

"My lord..." Lucius's voice was tentative, horrified. It surely wasn't because he was dying. More likely it was because he could see that possibility ahead for Draco. "My lord, he is but a boy...."

"Inconsequential," the Dark Lord agreed, twisting the knife in a way that made Perseus gasp, his knees buckling. "Compared to the Elder Wand."

Lucius's voice sounded as if it was coming from far away, and when the knife came out of him he could hardly feel it. "O-of course. Of course."

Stupid. He never should have left the castle. He never... Never would have ended up dumped on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, gutted, focused on breathing, straining to keep his eyes open through the pain that made moving impossible. "Please..."

"Most unfortunate," the Dark Lord murmured again. "And yet I am now the master of the wand. This is everything I need in order to defeat Harry Potter."

"Of course, my lord," Lucius repeated, and all Perseus could manage was a whimper.

"Come along, Lucius. It is time." The sound of them Apparating sent a deafening clap through the thin walls.

It was a small consolation for Perseus that Draco had disarmed the headmaster before he'd killed him.

He took another breath, slower, trying not to struggle, and tried to see what other spell work he could manage. Was there anything he could manage? Separate his soul out to... what end? He had only ever had one child, an accident of which he had never been aware until Marlena had been dead for far too long to save him. There was no way out this time, no half-shell to seek out in order to house himself. If Perseus had not been so far gone, he liked to think that he would have had the ability to deny himself the opportunity and drift away to nothing. He had been, though, a coincidence of time and distance and days of torture that had been a perfect storm of change and possibility and starting over again, and it was all gone to dust and nothing.

" **No!"**

Draco. No, no... He inhaled again, fingers twitching while he tried to say something, sure it was nothing but a garbled noise of pain. His lungs were all right, but the pain was stunning, maybe worse than _Cruciatus_. "Hnn?"

"No. No, no, no, no..." Hands on him, shaking, and he managed to drag his eyes open, just barely. "No, please no, please...."

"Back up, Malfoy, you... we need to, to do something. He needs medical attention, let Hermione closer."

Hermione wasn't a nurse, but he supposed it might keep him alive what with his guts a spilling bloody mess. He hadn't needed them, everyone already knew it was gutless, useless, a failure to the end. "Wand." He swallowed. "Elder wand. Not his, 's. Draco's. Please..." Please don't let him die on the floor of a place he hated.

"Please." Please, Draco was pleading, and all he could see was a vague blur of pale face and blond hair. "You can't. You can't."

Granger was casting spells he could barely hear, but he didn't think it would be enough.

It was almost all right. It was better than the last time had been -- shorter, for a start, and Draco was there, familiar blur, familiar voice. He'd had such hysterically high hopes for the future, stupidly so, but there was a great deal of pleasure to be found in hoping and planning even if it never came to fruition. It never had before, so there was no reason to expect he'd get to see anything different of his life the second time around. "Sorry. I, headmaster said..." Said to do the things that he didn't need to make a Vow for.

The things he'd always done.

"You can't." Draco's sharp, thin shoulders bowed, his voice broke. "You can't. Not again. You can't."

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy." Sharp sound, a fair slap, and he wanted to protest. He wanted a lot of things, wanted to tell Potter about his mother, about how he had known her and loved her and been her friend until his father had come along. Wanted to tell Draco that he was sorry and that he loved him.

Wanted so many things.

He closed his eyes, and focused because he could do that. Share out a memory, cry it out. His wand wasn't going to work, but it was the same focus, a force of emotion that made the tears gathering in his eyes something different. Made them silvery, made them linger against his lashes.

"'Mione, now. I need something, a flask or a jar or... something!"

"No one needs a fucking jar, we need to get him to a Healer!"

"There isn't, we can't move him yet. Ron!" And then there were more heads crowding around him, and someone was getting it. Good, fine. He didn't think he'd be moveable. If he had to die on the floor like that, it at least had served a purpose. At least it wasn't Draco. At least...

At least....

The world narrowed to a point then, and all he thought he heard was the sharp sound of grief that came from somewhere close by.

* * *

  
The Vow came and went, tightened and loosened, and Draco didn't care anymore. Didn't care about anything at all.

Potter had gathered the memories spilling from Perseus's eyes, stoppered them tight and shoved them in a pocket. Granger had helped to steady his body, had bandaged everything tightly so that they could get him to the Great Hall after the Dark Lord had offered an hour to take care of their dead.

There were so many dead.

He'd never seen so many dead, and he'd never felt so hopeless about Potter's chances at success. He supposed he should've been more on the other side, should've taken the reprieve to run to his parents, but it didn't matter. Draco didn't need to be a seer to guess who'd used a knife on Perseus, though the why was somewhat cryptic.

What reason was there? What reason could there be? He couldn't _know_. They were extremely good at Occlumency, a skill born of dire need, and most of the time they were high enough on potions when they were in the Silver Chamber that he couldn't have known. He couldn't have, and yet clearly he did, and Draco wanted to lie down beside Perseus and just. Stop.

Just end.

He wasn't dead yet. He was wholly unconscious, as unmoving as one of the Weasley twins, but breathing. Barely. Madam Pomfrey had been by, poured potions down his throat, tsked sadly, and moved on, because yes, they were still on the wrong side of the war. Known Death Eaters. It was a miracle that she'd treated them at all, but she'd been Slytherin in school.

Perseus had told him that.

No one was paying any mind to either of them; no one cared if he died there, if either of them did. If Perseus died, Draco wouldn't care much, either. Carefully, he settled down beside him, head close to his shoulder. He didn't want to be too close because he was afraid that he would hurt him.

All of this. All of the work, all of the effort, it was for nothing. Perseus was going to die. Potter was going to die. Draco could only hope that he would die, too. He was sure that whatever was waiting for him once the Dark Lord got into the castle wouldn't be forgiveness. Or anything like forgiveness, because he was sure they'd been figured out or Perseus wouldn't be lying there so still. If he was going to die anyway, he preferred to die here, curled up close and waiting. His parents were out there somewhere, both treading the murky, danger filled waters of the Dark Lord's vast sea of complete insanity. When it was over, when Se... Perseus died, again, he supposed that he would go out there. He would find them, tell Voldemort whatever it would take to get himself offed, too. His parents weren't so old that they couldn't have another son and heir, and living seemed like a horror too great to consider just at this moment.

"Oh. Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I am sorry." It was odd to hear the headmistress's voice shake like that, stranger still for her to stop and crouch beside them. "He was a good friend, he..."

Apparently hadn't fooled her, either. She reached fingers out to his pulse, and exhaled almost in surprise. "I'll help you move him, Mr. Malfoy. The floor is for corpses, not those with a little life left in them still."

Clearly not, but they had put them there all the same. He rose, silent and withdrawn in a way that even the mind's ease had never seemed to manage. He still had the wand of his Grandfather Abraxus and he lifted it slowly, the world narrowing down to nothing more than the Headmistress and Perseus and himself.

"Mobilicorpus." It was a quick casting, just long enough to levitate Perseus to one of the Great Hall tables that had been pushed up against bleacher seating to give them more room. "There. Get yourself some water, and rest, Mr. Malfoy."

He wouldn't do that; couldn't possibly, because if he closed his eyes then something might happen in that blink of darkness between one second and the next. There was noise around them, movement of people going and coming, people crying. He could see the Weasleys gathered, and Greg or Phillip was draped over whichever one had died, and it struck him as distinctly painful, maybe just because he knew how it felt. Or maybe not, since he hadn't a sibling. He had no idea, couldn't know. He just knew there was him and Perseus, and the only thing he could do was wait. Wait and hope, fingers crossed for some sign. Some sign that Perseus would live or die, or stop teetering in one direction or the other. So he waited.

Watched.

Hoped.

He kept breathing; it was shallow and slow and there was blood staining everything. Blood on Draco, blood on Perseus. On their hands, on their clothing, and he wondered if they would ever be clean again. If they would... He just didn't know. Couldn't think.

He'd never been very good at healing spells, and if he'd been even passing good at it he would've been firing them off like fireworks. When his nerves were shot to shit and all he had was his grandfather's wand, he definitely wasn't going to make things worse. He half suspected things had been worse in the Silver Chamber before, but maybe not. After all, they'd never been left to die in a shack before.

The world didn't stop around Draco, and that bothered him. He halfway wished it would, out of respect. Someone set a cupcake at his knee when a crowd rushed past to leave. He didn't know where they thought they were going –- after all, he'd seen the horde waiting outside.

No one was getting out of Hogwarts, at least not alive. There wouldn't be any easy way out of this, and Draco didn't care anymore. He wouldn't care until it was all over, and maybe not then.

His grandfather's wand was worth something, anyway, even if it didn't understand him so much. He lifted it, carefully transfiguring the table into a small bed, well-stuffed to keep Perseus steady. There was no reason for him to lie on the hard wooden tabletop. It wasn't necessary. He was good at transfigurations, at least, and it made sitting there easier. He even considered eating the cupcake, briefly. Everyone else who was still in the hall looked the way he felt, which was somewhat satisfying. Whatever was going on outside, he couldn't help. He was done, he was done like the dead on the floor were done.

"Draco!"

Oh.

God.

 _No_.

No, no, no, not his crazy aunt, and Draco's head jerked upwards as if to seek out the sight of her. She couldn't be there. She couldn't, and yet there she was, and he whirled, standing firmly between her and Perseus. She would probably kill him, but he would stand between them until he died.

"Awww, did someone kill your widdle boyfriend? My poor precious Draco -- stand up and fight with us!" She was cackling, laughing madly, and waving her wand to shatter glass and rain it down on those who remained. Now the injured were starting to move, starting to put up a fight.

He would rather die first, and he gritted his teeth and threw the first curse, a shockingly red course of light that channeled all of his fury into his magic. It wasn't an Unforgivable, but Draco knew that those would be coming if she got any closer to him.

She actually seemed shocked -- it almost made him smile to see her stagger back, and not cast a return spell just for a moment, distracted. "What is this? Betrayal? _Crucio_!"

Fire, yes, ripping through his skin, and yet nothing at all as strong as the Dark Lord's. He had never managed to throw off those curses, but there was so much riding on it. Perseus had to live, and if Bellatrix managed to get past him, then he wouldn't. " _Sectumsempra_!"

He swung his wand wildly, and watched her stagger backwards, trying to cover herself, trying to protect herself as wounds opened in a pattern similar to his motions, angry cutting strokes. "No, no, you're not supposed to have teeth! You're not--"

And then her face went all sorts of strange, her mouth opening in a gasp, and he watched her begin to whither and shrink. When she blew into shreds of black and fleshy scraps that made him nearly collapse with gratitude. The vicious satisfaction on the face of Weasley's mum where she stood behind the spot from whence his aunt had sort of... exploded.

Clearly he was going to need to send her a gift of great magnitude if they lived through this.

"Better than she deserved." The Weasley mum lingered for a moment longer, looking at the mess that had been Aunt Bellatrix before turning to help shore up the Great Hall.

Maybe he needed to do that, defend more than his little patch of ground, but he was afraid to leave, afraid to step away from the bed. If he moved away, then Perseus might breathe his last alone, and he couldn't. Couldn't deal with that, couldn't live with it. He had to keep him safe because no one else would, and he couldn't lose him again. Couldn't.

Just.

Couldn't.

The battle raged around them, stray curses and strange faces, and Draco did what he could to keep the curses away from Perseus, away from the people closest by them. It was pretty much all he could do, but it was something. Surely. One little area that was kept clear, and it seemed to be working just because other people were getting in closer. Decently defensible, back to a wall sort of spot which was good as long as the wall held. It seemed like there were less, or they were scared, or...

Or Draco couldn't think, but when he heard his mother's voice calling out, he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or scared.

"Draco! Draco!!"

Both, perhaps. Or worse, and he hovered there beside Perseus, afraid to move or go to her or pretty much anything, just in case it was a test, some way to get him out of the way. He just... he couldn't. Couldn't. It was best to hide in the chaos as much as he could, to stay in the crowd even if people were looking at him. Giving him away, but he didn't think it mattered because there was another press into the hall, cheering at the far end. Whatever it meant didn't matter, all that mattered was protecting Perseus as much as he could.

He fell back a little, letting a hand linger down to check Perseus. For all that he was close, he could've stopped breathing in the middle of it all and Draco wouldn't have noticed. Panic spiked in his chest for a moment, but he could feel a pulse still, pulse, heart moving blood through veins under his fingers. "Nhn."

"Pers!" His hands were shaking as he started fluttering them over skin, over all of them. "Hi. Hey. Look at me. Look at me, please, please!"

The crowd surged backwards, jostled Draco, but he moved with it, not letting go of Perseus. He was trying, and that meant he could hear Draco, meant he was in there, eyelids fluttering and eyes cracking open for a moment before they rolled back away. So very close, so close.

He hardly jumped when he heard the crack of magic on magic in the air.

"Please. Please." Whatever was happening, it didn't matter. It didn't matter when it crackled over him, when the Vow tightened again until he could hardly breathe. Dueling, everywhere, all over, noise and magic to the point where he couldn't breathe. Maybe no one in the Great Hall could, because everyone seemed tight and afraid and hopeful all at once, and he didn't know what to do except rest his head against the transfigured table and try to take slow, shallow breaths.

Breathe through it, not die. Not die. If Potter died and the Vow thought he'd failed Potter somehow, would it kill him? How could a Vow weigh events with any mortal wizarding sensibilities? It twisted tight, crawling up his shoulder, paralyzing it with pain hard enough to make him bang his knee against the underside of the table to make something else hurt more.

Perseus mumbled something again, and then the Vow unfurled. Or it didn't -- he couldn't tell because his left arm was on _fire_ , numb and screaming all at the same time. Nothing that dead should hurt that much, and he moaned, face buried against Perseus's upper arm to muffle the sound. It skimmed along his skin until he felt the world shrink in around him, tightening and loosening and then wrapping him up again until everything went away for quite some time.

"Draco. Draco, wake up, sweetie, we should, we should go..." Go where, go? Why should they go, and where?

Everything ached, all over, and the air smelled like fire and wild magic and broken stone, and his own shampoo, which was strange except that he was nose to hair with Perseus's head and Perseus's habit of nicking his bath products. He didn't open his eyes right away, but put a hand on Perseus's chest, just. Just to see, just to hear the answering groan, unsteady, but there.

Oh. Merlin. He was alive, he was... "No." His voice cracked, unsteady and fucked up and.... "No. Can't go, need...." Something. Help.

Something.

"Draco." His mother's firm voice, but he wasn't listening. "We're going back to the manor before the Aurors decide to take us all away. Get on your feet, we're going."

He shook his head, dizzy and drunk and sick. "'m... 'm not. Can't. Not, I can't leave Perseus." He heard his father hiss faintly, although he said nothing. "I won't."

Wouldn't, and he was breathing. The Vow was gone, which was maybe leading to that heady drunk feeling that was lingering in his chest, because there wasn't the least bit of lingering tightness.

"Vow. Should. Be all right? Headmaster said..." Perseus' s voice sounded like he'd been abusing potions, raw and a little uneven all over again.

There really was no time like the present to tell his parents that he'd been a spy except it would've required him to do more than lie there and breathe. Draco was fairly certain that was a conversation best left for another time and place, but his mother wasn't stupid. She was a great deal smarter than his father, although no one would ever have suspected it. "Draco? What Vow?"

So much for having this conversation elsewhere. He drew in a ragged breath and lifted his head to look at Perseus. "Sixth year. I Vowed to help Potter defeat the Dark Lord." His voice cracked. "I had hoped to gain some sort of protection for you. For all of us, only nothing seemed to work out properly."

Still, maybe the Vow would do its part and keep them all out of Azkaban. Perseus was breathing stronger, more steadily, but things could still go very bad for them all.

"I wonder whose daft idea that was." Lucius said it, and Perseus gave a noise that sounded like a quiet chuckle.

"Had the backbone to. More'n you."

Hopefully his father would manage to restrain himself, all things considered.

His mother settled down beside him and slipped an arm around his shoulders. Her face pressed to his, lips brushing his temple. They were in something of a corner, and neither of his parents had a wand. When Perseus whined under his breath, Draco figured that didn't matter. "Here." He handed his grandfather's wand to his mother. "He needs help."

"What happened?" He didn't know, and Perseus didn't provide an answer, but there wasn't really a counter-curse that would work. "We might need to take him to St. Mungo's..." Or that place no one talked about that they'd gone before. Draco much more preferred the quiet of that to the other.

But she took the wand in hand, and he hoped she'd at least try.

"I can only bandage him, darling, a little better than he is already. As soon as we can move him, we'll go." Not home, because he didn't want to go there. Maybe he never wanted to go again, and his father was carefully not looking at him at all, at either of them.

"To that place from before?" Others were around them, celebrating, mourning, all kinds of things. He just wanted to curl up beside Perseus and be grateful it was over and done. Finally.

No more Dark Lord.

He rolled that one around in his head a few times, while his mother tidied up Perseus's bandages. The twitch of fingers against his robes was heartening, and he hoped as soon as they could move Perseus was soon because he needed to get out of there before the Gryffindors got any funny ideas about the few Slytherins who'd stayed in the Great Hall.

"Ah. Aurors. Late as always." His father sounded almost jaunty again. It was sort of funny, considering they would probably be putting them all into manacles and marching them off to Azkaban straightaway.

Draco reached out, his thumb tracing along the pale line of jaw as if that alone could help. "Probably here looking for us, or people like us."

"I wouldn't worry much about that." The sound of that voice made his head jerk up to see Potter standing there, filthy and looking as if someone had beaten him half to death. He seemed weirdly okay, considering. "You kept your Vow, however that works. You may be a prat, Malfoy, but you're a prat who helped us win this. Besides, I think they're just here to... I dunno. Make sure of things." His mouth twisted in a funny grimace. "Better late than never."

It was odd to hear Potter and his father agree, even seconds apart.

"'n I get my m'm'ries back?" Perseus's hand twitched a little against Draco's side.

Crap. He had completely forgotten about that, and Potter had that sheepishly heroic expression that looked something like a stunned albatross in Draco's opinion. "Sorry, s... Perseus. I, um. It'd be difficult to dig them out, I think. I'll take proper care of things, though, until you get back and we get them for you." If such a thing were possible. How could he have found a Pensieve so quickly?

"We'll worry about that when all of your... when you're better," Draco promised him.

"Mmhm." Perseus's fingers shifted a little, traced up his back slowly. "'lright." All right, yes. As long as Potter was there to stand looking oddly victorious and alive, no one was going to kill him. Kill any of them, probably, maybe, although one never knew with Aurors. They seemed to recruit a remarkable number of Muggleborns, and Purebloods almost always came out on the wrong side of that equation for some reason.

Draco's mother was sitting beside him still, watching Potter. His father was carefully not looking at anything at all, and Draco wanted to laugh at that just a bit. He was fairly certain that they were quite a significant bit more traumatized by the Dark Lord over the last couple of years, but then, his father had believed in the madman for a lot longer than either of them had. "He needs medical attention, Potter. Better than he's going to get here. They're busy with..." He waved a hand. "Everyone else."

"Right." Right, and Potter looked sideways for a moment before holding his wand out to Draco. Draco's own wand. Finally. "I'll go see if I can get you all a portkey. Or something. Probably can't Apparate still..."

He didn't really care so much, so long as they managed to get out and get what they needed. "Potter." He licked his dry lips, fingers curling around hawthorn and unicorn hair tightly as his thoughts became words. "….thanks."

"You're welcome." He didn't linger too long, just turned and headed off, hopefully in search of a portkey. Draco didn't know what they'd be doing next, but everyone was alive.

Maybe they could do the south of France after all.

* * *

  
It didn't feel very good to be going back to Malfoy Manor. Not after a lengthy stay at Milliam's Healing station. One had to give the Malfoys credit for their willingness to stay out of the public eye after a thorough shaming. They were going to be made to testify at the trials, and Perseus was... very carefully not considering it. The trials, any of it, having to discuss any of it. The new Minister of Magic was sane, which was a delightful change, and not corrupt.

It was anyone's guess how long that particular reality would last, but he was a firm believer in taking what he could get, particularly when it was something such as that.

Draco had stayed with him during his recovery, and Milliam had petted both of them as though they were skittish cats who happened to show up at her door. Perhaps they were, truth be told, but it had all seemed quite strange at the time. It still did, he supposed, packing the last of the potions supplies into the open trunk and swish-flicking it closed. Time to go into the Manor and upstairs, he supposed, where Draco was packing up the vast majority of his bedroom.

Neither of them ever wanted to come back. He didn't know where they were going, but he had resources, and Draco had resources. They possibly needed to see about finishing their schooling, because the NEWTs had gone right to hell but that was still months off from now. The other seventh years weren't in any better position to take theirs, and maybe they would be lucky. Perhaps they would be passed en masse, although his inner cynic assured him that would never happen.

He left the Potions trunk where it was and walked through the gardens, making his way into the kitchen and from there upstairs. Avoiding Lucius was not a necessity –- he had been doing a first-class job of avoiding everyone except Narcissa, and Perseus sometimes wondered if he was ignoring her as well when they weren't looking. It was a possibility, but he supposed it didn't matter, at least not for himself or Draco. He couldn't bring himself to care. He hoped for Narcissa's sake that all was well for her, but after the last... Last two years. Two years of living like that, living almost like those weeks before his death. He hadn't thought it was possible to do that and survive for so long, through the panic and the fear and the grinding boringness of being hurt over and over again.

Perseus drummed his fingers on the bannister, and turned down the hallway towards their co-joined rooms. It was as much a falsehood as it had been before now, separate doors and separate rooms, but Draco saw no reason to intensify his father's discomfort any more than necessary. He didn't seem to care that much, only it made things less difficult, he said. That was enough to be going on with, and so he slipped through the door to his room and walked promptly across the way to walk into Draco's.

There were multiple trunks there, all neatly lined up against the wall. Draco was absently floating his books into one of the last trunks, expression distracted and contemplative.

"Can I help?" He leaned in the doorway, watching that tension. They were really both messes in their own ways, and survival was one thing. Living was completely another.

It wasn't surprising, the way he turned and looked at him, gaze stormy and serious. "Yes. If you like." That wasn't the only thing on his mind, clearly, but if he had learned nothing else then he had learned that Draco would bring up whatever was bothering him in his own time.

He could guess, though. Lifting his wand, he started to help pack books. He had nothing at the Manor that was worth keeping for himself, nothing in which he was deeply invested. Memories and people were it, had been it for a very long time. He would miss Hogwarts, he supposed, and he did miss Dumbledore, for all that he was an interfering old bastard. He missed his memories because Potter hadn't recovered them back to him, but there was nothing really pertinent for living his new life that was missing in them. He could still see the flat surface of them, murky, like phantoms drifting in his mind, unimportant now in any way that mattered.

They worked in silence for a while, books stacking themselves neatly into trunks, Draco opening drawers and checking behind himself for a while. It seemed that he wasn't going to ask anything after all, and Perseus was almost relaxed when he finally did. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I almost told you a hundred times. And then... the summer after fifth year happened. And everything else." It felt better to say it, to put it out there. "And I just couldn't, it wouldn't have helped or changed anything."

"Might have." There was a stubborn set to his jaw, as if Draco honestly believed it, and then he sighed, low and steady. "But I expect that's true. Are you going to tell me now?"

It wasn't much of a reveal. Perseus suspected he'd said the most he'd ever said when they'd crashed after rescuing Lucius from Azkaban. But Draco wanted to hear the words, and they were safe in the Manor. Now.

"When Umbridge killed me, I had managed to separate my soul, mostly, from my body, and transferred myself over to Perseus. I moved in the second he breathed his last, and it. It was very lucky, and very bad timing." He'd been, or felt, half-dead for some weeks, and it had been a struggle to get on the right side of that fence, magically. "I..."

"And then you came to Hogwarts, when you could have gone anywhere else." Draco turned, and the way he looked at him was steady, expressionless. Terrifying, he supposed, or at least a little. "Why?"

"Because I'm an idiot, apparently. Because, I..." It wasn't that he didn't know, it was just that he didn't think about it. He didn't waste a lot of time in reflection, didn't have the time to waste, and maybe it was a habit to keep out of in the future. But he remembered sitting by Draco at his funeral pyre. "I think I wanted to see what happened. And I wanted to live a life I chose." Not one that had been selected for him, not one that involved too many factors, none of them safe. Just... something that he had chosen, and chosen well.

Clearly he hadn't done nearly as well with that as he had thought he might.

Pink tongue flickered out, moistening dry lips. "I had a terrible affection for you, you know. Professor." As if he didn't know, as if that confession changed anything. "Before I realized, I was... it was difficult."

"I know." Perseus had seen the back and forth, and then Draco had seemed to settle in, comfortable with it. "I imagined that none of this, that the war wouldn't... turn the way it did. Again. The last time, I didn't take what I wanted, I didn't fight for it. I wasn't going to do that again, so I didn't... let you go." He disliked having to explain himself, and possibly he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, because it always had before. Things never ended well for him, and that depressing thought made him frown.

Draco nodded. "Things had resolved before I realized. It was... there were feelings for you as you are, not as you were. Which is not to say that one or the other is more or better except that this way no one could say anything. We could, we can, have this without anyone thinking any less of you for it." Because Draco had been his student, and sometimes he felt so old, but mostly he still felt so young. Dumbledore would have said that a person was never any older than he seemed to be in his own head, and he would have been right about that.

Perseus felt, if he was lucky, maybe nineteen. Maybe twenty. "Or of you." And he didn't like the space between them while they talked, but he left it, gave Draco room to pace and roam because he understood that urge, too. "It's strange that the only thing I'm worried about is what we're going to do about NEWTs."

The inelegant snort was somewhat surprising. "Fuck NEWTs. There are equivalency tests. Merlin knows we can pass them in our sleep." Or they could if the tests were made up of Dark Arts spells, in any case. "So, now that you have the freedom to make a choice -- here, or there, or anything you want at all -- what will you choose?"

"I thought I said I'd already made my choices. Still, there are other choices to make. Which equivalency tests do we take? Lie low in France for a few months, or see how sunburned you can get if you ever do take me up on the beach suggestion? Or we can mope about England. I'd prefer not to stay in the Manor."

A pleasured flush began to sneak over that impassive expression, Draco glancing down in a manner that could only be described as demure. "I would like that. Any of that." Any at all, and he stopped his fidgeting to step closer. "All of that."

"We should pick a start point, take your mother out to dinner, and then run for it," Perseus said very seriously, reaching to close the space, to kiss Draco, to touch him, anything he was allowed. Everything, and when his hands curved around the points of Draco's hips, robes wrinkling beneath his fingers, Draco stepped even closer and tipped his chin and caught his mouth with an affection and adoration that he had never expected he could have, not before all of this started. Maybe not even after it did, for that matter.

Still his. All his, lips lingering against his mouth with a warm promise of more later, soft and slightly moist against his own. Draco's fingers against his shoulders, leaving him pleased that they were almost the same height, that Draco was still growing and would probably beat him yet. That they had time to find out.

When he pulled away, the storm clouds had receded, leaving clear silver-grey gaze looking at him seriously. "Father won't want to come. It's probably for the best." The _Daily Prophet_ still had quite a lot to say about the Malfoy family being pardoned, about their doubt that Draco had truly made a Vow, about so many things. Potter had spoken up for them, as had McGonagall. Former and current Headmistress of Hogwarts, which went a long way in the eyes of the people Perseus thought mattered.

The Prophet could go hang itself. "He does tend to draw a crowd." Everyone just assumed Perseus was the right-hand man, for the second time. He had said as much to Draco once and gotten a smirk and a reply that clearly that was a reversal of roles -- Malfoys were the ones meant to be right-hand men.

With a nudge, Draco kissed him again, short and sweet and altogether perfect. "Yes. But then, so do we all. Just." The pause was awkward, and he glanced away to the things they had packed. "I make him uncomfortable, after... everything."

"He makes me uncomfortable, after... everything. He..." Perseus hesitated. They didn't discuss it because if they did, Perseus thought they'd end up in one of the other wings of St. Mungo's. "I think he didn't hold up to the strains as well as Narcissa did."

The statement earned him a steady nod. "My mother has surprising depths." With a sigh, he dropped his head, breathed in deeply against a robe-clad shoulder before pulling away and looking at Perseus. "All right. The house-elves can finish for us. We'll take Mother to dinner, and then let her know where we plan to go for now."

"If you've figured that out, I'm... game." Everything had new experiences tied to it, things Perseus wanted to do with Draco, wanted to see without wondering when his life would go to shit again because of the Dark Lord, because of things he'd done in the past that'd been held over his head.

"Wherever we want," Draco promised him. "But I was thinking we ought to start with the chateau. You, me, a ridiculous number of house-elves." He hesitated. "Plus, I expect it's close enough to Rome. When you think we should move on."

"Let's focus on enjoying ourselves." Perseus pressed another kiss against Draco's temple. "Then we can work out what we want to do when we grow up."

"Again." It was offered along with a solemn face. "You won't mind growing up with me... again." Not quite a statement, but it wasn't a question either.

"I'm looking forward to it." He inclined his head slightly, watching that serious expression and the way that it loosened, lightened just a little.

"Then that's everything I need to know."

"Okay. Dinner, then?" Somewhere nice, somewhere they could thumb their nose at the larger society by being out.

"Dinner," Draco agreed, taking him by the hand and tugging him towards the door.

Perseus was all smiles as he offered to take Narcissa and Draco to dinner, at the place of her choice. It wasn't that they'd been exiled to Malfoy Manor, but it just hadn't seemed wise to venture out until then.

Narcissa was a woman of remarkable good sense considering the fact that she was married to Lucius. She chose a small, quiet restaurant on the edge of Wizarding London where most people wouldn't expect to find them. It was quite good, mostly Italian food. It made Perseus want to go there, want to wander through places and eat a ridiculous amount of pasta and drink himself silly with Draco every night.

As it was, he was slightly hazy with good wine, and Draco's smile was easy, relaxed, and the white sauce on the pasta was excellent. Clean-tasting, Draco had remarked, no lingering aftertaste. It was nice just to... enjoy food. Taste it because he could. The background music was just enough to mask conversation, keeping them from hearing other tables and vice versa, woven through the air with magic.

"We're going to travel for a while, Mother." They had been working their way around to that conversation for most of the evening. Obviously Narcissa knew they were going to be leaving England, but they hadn't been any more specific than that. "The house in France is just the start, really. I thought you should know before we left that we wouldn't be settling in permanently just yet."

"We'll... we need to work out what we want to do." Perseus was cradling his wine glass in both hands which he supposed was a bad sign, but he was past full and it just felt good.

She lifted her own glass, looking across the table at her son. "You'll want to take the equivalency tests, I suppose. I know your things are already packed but perhaps we can see them done tomorrow? The next day?"

Draco looked at him questioningly. "D'you think?"

"If we really can get them done." He didn't think either of them were the settle down with the Ministry sorts, but it was always best to have that option.

Narcissa nodded. "Despite everything, we still have family. People I can call upon. I will see what I can do."

Maybe it was that simple. Perseus didn't think extra study time would help them. The fact that he was upright and his organs weren't falling out, that he could taste good food and it was going to end up coming out where it needed to, that was important. Even if they failed miserably, they would be fine, and he didn't think that they would. Despite everything -– Umbridge, the Carrows, the utter disaster of chasing after the fulfillment of the Vow -- he thought that everything would be fine. Draco would say that his charms were utterly horrid, but his practical applications were excellent, and their potions work was above and beyond.

It would be fine.

Still. Staying in the manor overnight... Well. It wouldn't kill them. "We could wait that long." And not have to come back in August.

She looked at him, and yes. Yes, she knew. He would have liked to believe that he had been more subtle than he had, but there it was. It was done now, and there was no point fretting over it. "You'll take good care of him."

"Mother!" Draco's protest wasn't heated. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Of course. We'll take good care of each other. I think we deserve to just... wander for a little bit, after everything." See other countries, though he wanted to thoroughly avoid Albania, and any magical creatures that they'd ever cared for.

That seemed to be enough for her. "I will let your father know." As if Lucius truly wanted to know anything at all. She wouldn't tell him who Perseus was, though.

Some secrets were better off remaining concealed.

Perseus suspected if Lucius ever found out there'd be rage and frothing at the mouth and more rage -- and then shame. Or at least, Perseus wanted there to be shame and humiliation, but he also hoped never to give him that satisfaction.

Draco finished off his own wine and placed the glass on the table. "I expect that's for the best. He still can't look at me since... since that time."

"Oh, darling. Your father will accustom himself." Somehow, except it was highly unlikely.

"It's not your fault," Perseus bristled, sitting up a little, still holding his and the dregs. "That, all of that, were things that occurred before. He..." Had no problem with them when they weren't family.

"It's fine." Even if it clearly wasn't. "We will enjoy ourselves and give him time to... get past it." Draco said it, but he clearly didn't believe it.

Perseus didn't believe it, but that was fine. At least Narcissa didn't have a problem. It was more important that she was accepting than Lucius, even if it still hurt Draco. "Yes. And if he doesn't. His loss."

No matter what, Draco would always be a Malfoy. Lucius couldn't change that; Narcissa wouldn't let him, and they would manage. They would travel until they didn't want to travel anymore, and then they could figure out what to do from there. They would come up with something, even if they weren't ready yet.

"I know." Draco's smile was tiny, more a twitch of his mouth than anything else.

He liked all of Draco's smiles. "So. Any places you want to recommend we try?" Best to try and change the topic from something none of them could influence.

After that, the conversation shifted to more general things –- why they should visit Germany and Turkey and Japan, Egypt and Australia and Brazil. Narcissa offered them the travel journals of her great-aunt Cassiopeia. She had never wed, but had instead travelled the world with her companion, which both of them understood to mean something quite else.

It had made Perseus smile a little more when he refilled his own wineglass as well as Draco's and Narcissa's. "I think Draco could keep excellent scathing journals."

"Vicious," Draco agreed and lifted his glass. The idea made him relax, though, and that made things better. It was going to be all right; they had survived, and they would keep on surviving. They would see things and do things and everything would be fine.

Eventually. Perseus took a sip of his wine, and closed his eyes. Draco's leg brushed against his under the table, and there was something of a comfort in that. Something that made him relax, and it was a good night.

* * *

  
"Are you ever going to finish that potion?" He probably sounded cranky even though he wasn't. Hot, yes, a little dirty, or possibly a lot. He had been observing the house-elves and making sure that the harvest was going according to plan. Magic made things a great deal easier in Draco's experience. There were people who claimed otherwise, said that it ruined the taste of the grapes or changed the bouquet of the wine, but theirs had never been anything but excellent.

The people who said it ruined the grapes were clearly doing it wrong.

Still, Perseus had his sleeves rolled up and his hair pulled back, and the whole room was comically humid while Perseus stirred it carefully counter clockwise. "Soon."

Soon was never soon enough somehow. Twenty years and it wasn't enough, probably would never be. Draco slipped up behind him and pressed his lips to the side of his neck, the clasp in that hair rasping against his jaw as he drew back from him. "Hm, soon. I suppose I could go back out again, if you like."

He felt Perseus lean his head back slightly, exhaling. "Bugger. Just wait another... fifteen stirs." Fourteen, thirteen, he hoped Perseus didn't lose count, and mostly suspected it wouldn't explode horrifically if he did.

It might not be perfect anymore, but it wouldn't explode.

"Mhm." Agreeing to wait was easier than doing it, so he leaned in and pressed another kiss just below the first one.

Not as effective as the first, but the third kiss pressed against his neck made Perseus give a huff of an exhalation, which was as good as a shudder where Perseus was concerned, and his shoulder pressed back against Draco. "Won't have to bottle it for hours. Six..."

"Six hours would be nice." Not that they would be that long about it, but it would still be nice, and it would give them the opportunity for a nap as well. All things considered, it would be an excellent afternoon. They were going to visit his mother tomorrow, and he would undoubtedly end up in a horrible mood before it was all over and done.

Still, when they got home they had a home to return to, and possibly a vintage to start crafting as well. Or plotting for. "I'll set an alarm..." There was a pause, and he very quickly removed the pure silver spoon he'd been using to stir. "There."

Draco slid his arms around his waist and stepped closer. "Mmmm, that sounds like quite an excellent plan. An alarm, and I feel certain that Mipsy will pack for us if we ask properly."

"Carefully," Perseus corrected, because the last time he'd asked Mipsy to pack, Perseus had gotten a large carry on sized bag full of nothing but socks and oranges. Draco still wondered about that, because he'd gotten perfectly normal clothes in his bag. "I surrender. You want to go inside, then?"

"It seemed like a nice idea. We could always stay here, but the table isn't half so comfortable as our bed." Even transfiguration couldn't make it so for some reason, and Perseus always complained that Draco had neither properly removed nor replaced all of the items on it.

Still, it was nice that that was essentially the only things they had to complain about. "I'm very fond of our bed." They'd gotten a new mattress the previous year, and Draco swore it still wasn't broken in enough. Perseus twisted a little, pulling him away from the cauldron once he put out the fire.

"And well you should be." It wasn't as if they hadn't slept in a remarkable number of beds over the years. They had come to France first after the War, and spent a few months pulling themselves together. It had taken a lot of doing, and both of them were still raw when they had moved on to Italy, touchy and angry and fighting over stupid things because of it. Somewhere between there and Germany, that had gotten better. They had calmed down, started to enjoy their time together and the new things for them to discover. Still, it had left a bit of a bad taste in their mouths for Italy. He supposed they could've just gotten therapy, but it wasn't half as fun as having a screaming fight over he-couldn't-remember-what that had ended when he'd pushed Perseus into a fountain and Perseus had stayed the night in some hotel instead of coming home with Draco.

Frankly, it had scared the hell out of him –- the idea that Perseus might not come back, that he might be done with him altogether, and it wasn't as if he wouldn't deserve it. He had been a miserable bastard for a few weeks, and by the time Perseus had decided to come back, he had been ready to do anything he had to do to keep that from happening again. It hadn't been necessary, but. He'd been willing, and Perseus had calmed down, they both had. It wasn't as if either of them had made it out of the War unscathed, and Perseus had done it twice. Draco forgot that more than he cared to remember, because it was easy to forget when his murky-eyed lover smirked at him and kissed the side of his mouth to pull him out of the workshed and back into the house itself. "Did you skip dinner again?"

"I was busy." The grapes were getting close, but not quite close enough. He had eaten some while he was out, mostly because he was getting peckish. It kept his blood sugar up in any case so that he didn't get unbearably cranky. "I can't imagine you remembered, either."

"Mmm, no. But the Wolfsbane went well." He filled brewing requests for the French Ministry of Wizardry at a stipend as sort of a personal challenge, had for years. Mostly it was Wolfsbane, or Wiggenweld, which said something strange about French wizarding society, Draco supposed. Possibly that the entire lot of them were secret necrophiliacs, among other things.

He licked his dry lips and smiled, head tilted to the side. "Reckon we could stop and eat, then, before we go upstairs." Not that it was all that likely.

"Have something sent up?" That would just amount to grabbing a house elf, and asking for a cheese and fruit platter. They could fuss with more complicated things later, or never, or after the better part of the house-elves got home. Perseus enjoyed cooking, and enjoyed making Draco cook with him. Draco mostly enjoyed making exquisite coffee drinks, although they had both learned to be careful where they set them down since Constantine, their seven year old Crup, seemed to have developed quite the taste for it.

"Maybe after." After was always good, and he got a hand on a hip as they moved up the stairs. Constantine was on their heels, and Draco could imagine the yapping that would earn them when they shut the door to keep him from making his way into the bed with them.

Draco was rather adverse to having Constantine nose his nuts.

The suggestion got him a hum of agreement from Perseus, and Perseus took care to shut the door behind them before Constantine made it inside. "Everything going well out there?"

"Another few days. I should most likely stay and watch them...." Never mind that Flipsy and Mipsy both knew as well as he did what needed to be done. They both knew it was more the suggestion of an excuse not to see his baby brother.

It hadn't surprised him that his father had desired another child; insulted him, yes, but surprised him, no. His father was responsible for the situation in which they had found themselves -– perhaps not entirely, but more than not. Perseus certainly thought so, though if the Malfoy Family had completely rebuked the Dark Lord at the time, Draco had no doubt all of them would've been dead, killed as traitors just as Severus had been.

"Scorpius isn't that horrible a child," Perseus teased.

"Scorpius," Draco replied with great dignity, "will never be more than a replacement for me." Never mind the fact that he spent a ridiculous amount of money buying presents for him every Christmas and birthday.

"I don't think anyone feels that about either of you." Scorpius was his own creature, completely different from Draco at the same age, Perseus swore. The look they shared was passing familiar, but it was still eerie for Draco when they visited. Perseus dropped Draco's shirt on the floor.

"Father would be happier if it was." It didn't bother him anymore, but it did bear saying. Next, Perseus would say that Lucius Malfoy was an idiot. It was predictable, but that was all right. It was true.

It was just a conversation they'd had more than once over the years.

"Your father is, and has always been, too stupid to deserve his family," Perseus sighed. He pressed his mouth against Draco's, nipping lightly at his bottom lip.

"Mmmm." Agreement, yes, because it wasn't as if he disagreed in the least. "I love it when you do that."

"What, kiss you, or argue about your parents?" He did it again, just that light nip, tasting at Draco's mouth. Sometimes, Draco suspected they'd done everything, every conceivable position and sex act they wanted to do. Now they had favorites, and they had comfort sex and hot banged over the potions table sex and lazy hand jobs in the shower sex.

Draco loved their lives. He loved that they didn't have to deal with the dirty looks that British wizards tended to shoot them, even now that there were _histories_ out, revealing their assistance to Potter and friends. There were even bizarre revisionist sorts of things, more fiction than reality, and he didn't want to think about those. "Tease." As if he didn't know exactly what Draco liked, what he wanted, every little thing about him, even the things he likely didn't want anyone to know. He let his hands sneak beneath his shirt, one hand resting at the small of Perseus's back, the other stroking slowly up his side. "You know exactly what I mean."

"I do, but I can always think of horrible things to say about Lucius..." Perseus let his fingers linger at Draco's belt, a thumb sliding to rest between fabric and skin.

It made him hum even as he began to strip Perseus with a steady persistence. "Perhaps later, then. Or even in front of him." It made his father furious, and Draco had a sick enjoyment of that fact.

Besides, it wasn't as if the insults were superficial or baseless. Perseus was still angry at Lucius for a long list of ways he'd treated Draco after the war, up to and including the time Lucius had arranged a marriage for Draco. "Mmm, yes, that will do." Draco felt his pants get tugged down just a little past his hipbone, and Perseus sighed, leaning forward and slipping to his knees to kiss Draco's hip. It rather interrupted his attempt to get Perseus's pants off, but he supposed that some things were only to be expected.

His fingers caught at the clasp holding dark hair back and out of the way, plucking it free so that it tumbled in sweaty waves to Perseus's shoulders. "You know I...." Yes. He knew. Saying it wasn't necessary, but it was true and that was the important thing.

"Yes." Mumbled against his skin, but yes, while Perseus pressed open-mouthed kisses against his skin when Draco really supposed he needed to take a shower. Later, everything else always came later than that, than fingers squeezing his ass, and the hot-wet-perfect feeling of lips and tongue sliding closer, closer, and then further away.

Teasing bastard.

"We could strip down," Draco suggested. "Get in the shower." Shower sex was greatly enjoyable, and he knew he was streaked with dirt from wandering the fields with Mipsy.

"Oh, hot shower..." Perseus pressed his forehead against Draco's hip. "Damn, yes, I'll skip this for a hot shower. I smell like herbs."

He managed a pout, somehow. "I wasn't suggest we skip it, exactly, just... perhaps a change of location. The herbs aren't so bad, but I stink of sweat and dirt." No one who had known him when they had been at Hogwarts ever would have suspected that he would do anything involving manual labor. It was likely that people still thought he laid about eating bonbons and reading Veela romance novels or something equally bizarre.

That life would've been very depressing, or annoying, or both. There was something extremely satisfying in using his hands, in producing something, in making sure it was just to his standards, and they were exacting. "I don't mind the sweat and dirt," Perseus mused, getting to his feet and leaning on him to do it. His left knee creaked and Draco grinned.

"But it's nicer without." Somehow, no matter how good the spell, there was always some remnant of grit left in the sheets afterwards.

Even if it was just in his mind.

"I saw that look," Perseus groused, sliding a hand around Draco's waist to pull him towards their bathroom. "Neither of us are getting old. I plan on growing old disgracefully, like the headmaster did. With less hair."

Reaching up, Draco slid his fingers into thick dark locks before leaning forward and kissing him. "Hmmm. Yes." That much facial hair was frankly ridiculous. "Come on, then. Let's get into the water and washed up."

"Let's not use your adventures in soap making." Oh, that was low, even if it did make the air smell like cranberries. He nudged Perseus, and got a laugh for it, while Perseus waved his wand and set the water to running.

It was a good life, this one. Maybe it wasn't anything they would have chosen when they were young, maybe it wasn't what anybody thought they would do with their lives, but it was good. It was everything Draco could ever have wanted.

Companionship, enjoyment and love, tangled up together.

It was worth everything it had taken to get there.


End file.
